Hey, hey My, my
by Into the Nothing
Summary: Sequel to You'll Accomp'ny Me. Dean, Sam and MJ deal with the loss of their father and search for answers about the Yellow Eyed Demon and Sam and MJ's abilities. Loosely follows Season 2 with mostly original storylines for hunts. Sisfic.
1. Chapter 1

**Here it is (finally)! Thanks for sticking with this series! I hope you all enjoy:)**

**Chapter 1**

"_Wendy?" Dean wasn't surprised at the stunned look on his father's face as he stood in the hospital room doorway, seemingly unable to take another step, looking between Wendy and Dean. What did surprise Dean was the immediate change in Wendy the moment John uttered her name. A calm came over Wendy the instant John spoke. She stopped fidgeting, her eyes finally stilled, focusing on Dean for the first time since she'd arrived in his room. She took a deep, steady breath and Dean swore her lips were very nearly smiling as she slowly turned to face John. _

"_John." She said simply, and even her voice was steadier, more sure. She took one step toward him. "I-"_

_John put his hand up, palm toward her and she stopped dead in her tracks, almost as if he were controlling her. "I need to speak to Dean. It's urgent. Wait outside."_

_Dean couldn't believe how easily Wendy obeyed, bowing her head and walking past John, into the hallway without another word. Hadn't she just been frantically begging Dean to help her, nothing short of panicked? _

_Dean had no idea what to make of this drastic change in Wendy's behavior, but had no time to dwell on it as John swiftly closed the door behind her and turned to Dean. _

"_I need you to listen carefully, Dean. There's very little time, but it's absolutely vital that you hear this now."_

_Dean recalled the fear he had seen in his father's eyes, that night outside the motel when he told Dean about the demon that was after MJ. The look on his father's face now was a million times worse than that. Dean's heart sank as he feared the worst._

"_Dad, is she-"_

_John spoke over Dean, his hands on his son's shoulders, pushing him onto the bed. "Dean, you boys were right about MJ being part demon. It's true and this demon that has her now, she's connected to him."_

_Dean gave a stiff nod, acknowledging that he understood, that he knew he had to give in to the truth. The confirmation from his father that MJ was not his sister was like a knife to the gut. He swallowed, "He's her father." He muttered, eyes on the floor._

"_No!" John practically shouted, causing Dean's head to snap up. "No, Dean. She's mine." He pulled a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket, smoothing it out on his thigh before handing it to Dean. Dean looked at the slip, a lab report, trying to make sense of it. John pointed to the part that said the two samples were a 99.9% match. "She's a Winchester." He said unmistakable pride in his voice. _

_Dean felt overwhelming relief for a brief moment before shaking his head in confusion. "Then how-"_

_John interrupted again, practically tripping over his words. "I don't know for sure, but I have a theory. I think I was possessed when she was conceived. And that even though she's biologically my daughter, that his presence in me at the time…makes him her father, too. Or something like a father."_

_Dean was shaking his head, even as John answered. "Dad, you would've known if you were possessed."_

"_Dean, I met Wendy in a bar and I was three sheets to the wind. I remember leaving with her and I remember waking up in her apartment. That's it." He pointed at the paternity test results. "And until I got that, I figured that Wendy was with someone else-the demon- and that he was MJ's biological father."_

_Dean's head was swimming. He tried to make sense of everything John was saying, but he was speaking so quickly – urgently, and it was so much to take in. He opened his mouth to voice one of the many questions he now had, but John gripped his shoulder tightly, his eyes wide and determined as they bored into his eldest child's. _

"_Dean, there's no time to discuss this, I'm sorry. You have to listen to everything I'm about to tell you. If you remember nothing else of what I've taught you, you must remember this."_

_Dean felt his unease grow more pronounced at the sheer desperation in John's words. _

"_MJ is fine, I've made certain of it. The demon won't be able to harm her anymore. She'll be safe with you very soon. Once she is, don't you ever let her out of your sight." John ground out, between clenched teeth, his grip on Dean's shoulder bordering on painful now. "The demon may not be a threat anymore, but I'm afraid there's other threats…maybe even that she could be a threat to herself." He continued quickly before Dean could interrupt. "There's a lot I don't know, Dean. And it's up to you to keep her safe no matter what happens." He held up a finger, shaking it at Dean, "And as for Wendy…I know she caused MJ a hell of a lot of grief…caused enough damage, but Dean, I think she's a victim in all of this, too. I know she's not fit to even see MJ right now, but son don't write her off. She'll always be MJ's mother." He took a breath, as if steeling himself. "And Dean, you gotta watch out for Sam."_

_This abrupt change in subject caught Dean completely off guard, making him choke on his argument against John defending Wendy._

"_You gotta watch out for your brother, Dean." John repeated slowly. "There's something dark inside him, son. And it's not his fault, but…" John ran his hand over his face, taking a deep breath. "But if you can't save him from himself, Dean…then you have to kill him."_

Dean bolted awake, gasping for breath, his sweat drenched t-shirt sticking to him. He turned, placing his bare feet on to the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed. It was barely dawn, very little light filtering in through the bedroom window. He glanced at Sam, still sound asleep in the next bed and wondered at the irony. Six months ago he was the one slumbering peacefully while Sam slept fitfully, plagued by nightmares.

Dean reached for the bottle of JD sitting on the nightstand and took a long pull. He peeled off the soaking shirt and tossed it on the floor, soundlessly getting to his feet and making his way through the bathroom and into MJ's room. He found her sound asleep, just as he did every night, sprawled across the bed, one foot dangling off. He shook his head as he returned to his room, thinking that when they left Bobby's and went back to sharing beds they were all in trouble as MJ had clearly become accustomed to spreading out. He lied back on his pillow, his left arm under his head, his hand automatically going to the hunting knife stashed under his pillow and grasping the cool bone handle tightly. He stared up at the ceiling, thinking he'd try to go back to sleep, knowing that wasn't going to happen and not really caring either way. He was used to getting by on a couple hours here and there, only really worried about getting enough sleep when they were on a hunt and he needed to be at his sharpest. Hell, in the four months they'd been staying at Bobby's he'd probably gotten more sleep than he had in the past 10 years. They hadn't stayed in one place for this long since…well _ever_. Even as kids they never stayed in one spot for longer than it took their father to finish a case. And he wasn't sure how much longer he could stay here. He'd only lasted this long because it was Bobby's. Anywhere else and he would've blown town by now, no doubt.

This had become his nightly routine for the past several weeks. The same dream- well, memory really- would wake him in a cold sweat and he'd take a drink to calm his nerves, slow his racing heart before he'd check in on MJ. Then it was back to bed to stare at the ceiling and try to think about anything but his father until morning.

When they had first gotten MJ back, it was clear to him and Sam that she had reached her limit. She had been beaten down and had her head screwed with for too long and it had all come crashing down on her. Just keeping her alive and functioning in those first few weeks after Dad's death consumed Dean and he had no time to even consider his last conversation with John much less figure out what in the hell it all meant. Strangely enough, as torn up as MJ was, Dean felt like that had been easier than this. At least he had a tangible task at hand: help MJ get better. He threw himself into it, getting them set up at Bobby's, bringing her to therapy and just being there to comfort her had kept his hands and his mind plenty busy, so that John's haunting speech never even had the chance to surface.

Slowly, as the weeks went by, he could see MJ coming around, getting stronger. She was talking to them, and not just yes and no answers, but really talking to them. The first time she looked at Dean and told him she was afraid of what was going to happen to them it was like music to his ears. This was what they had all been waiting for. Her therapist, Dr. Whitmore, had told them – and Dean begrudgingly knew he was right – that MJ couldn't get better until she started opening up to them. She needed to process all the things she'd kept bottled up inside all these years. Things that she'd repressed with alcohol and sex. This was the hardest thing for Dean to hear, until Sam pointed out that this should not have been shocking to him, given the situations with Patrick and that low life in the men's bathroom. Still, it's not like you get used to the idea of your fifteen year old sister using sex as a coping mechanism.

MJ still hadn't told them anything about what had happened when she was with the demon. Dr. Whitmore was told that MJ had been kidnapped by a psycho who thought he was MJ's father and had delusions that he and MJ had magical powers. Dean hadn't liked the idea of a story that would lead to so many questions, but Sam had convinced him that the therapist couldn't help MJ unless he knew the truth. Well, as much of the truth as they could risk telling him.

So they had fallen into a routine of therapy, school and training. Everyday MJ would get up and run with Sam, work on school work for three hours, go to therapy, come home and train with Dean. And over time they could all see the improvements in MJ, in all of them, really.

As thrilled and relieved as Dean was to see his sister getting better, this left his brain with too much free time and inevitably he found himself consumed with his father's instructions. During the day he would try to focus on training with MJ or helping Bobby out around the salvage yard. He found himself spending more and more time working on the Impala, which even he recognized as most likely being a lost cause. All of this only kept his hands busy and it was now to the point that he spent nearly every waking moment dissecting each of John's words.

Tonight, like he did every night, he tried to focus his thoughts on something else. He found himself thinking about Jenna, of all things. He shifted onto his side, watching the sky slowly lighten as morning approached. Jenna. Definitely not as horrifying to ponder as his father's dying orders, but still, not entirely pleasant. Dean had called her once they had said their goodbyes to John and were settled back at Bobby's. He knew he couldn't give her any real answers or be of any help to her, but he needed to know that she was okay. Her response had been a string of expletives that would've made a trucker blush before she hung up on him. Dean couldn't blame her. She had taken a chance on them, risked her career and reputation to keep MJ with them, and all Dean had done for her was turn her life upside down. He knew she hadn't returned to Chicago. He had called her roommate, who had at least told him that Jenna had taken an extended leave from work and was out of town indefinitely before cursing him out and slamming the phone down in his ear. Great.

But the stakes were high on this one. It wasn't just about Jenna's well-being. Dean knew that Jenna was one of the few people who might actually have some shred of a lead as to what his father's cryptic warning about MJ had been all about. Jenna had told him that the demon had "showed" her what he wanted to do to MJ. He needed to know everything she knew. Of course, Jenna had told him that right before he convinced her to leave Chicago until further notice and then hadn't bothered to call her for 3 weeks. He knew the chances of getting her to talk to him over the phone were slim. He'd have to find her and talk to her in person.

Dean rolled back over with a sigh. How was he going to get Sam to track Jenna's location without telling him why he needed to see her? And even if he could come up with a way to find her without telling Sam the truth, there was still MJ. He remembered his father's order and the look of fear and desperation on his face when he had told Dean not to let her out of his sight. He couldn't bring MJ along without her figuring out what was going on and regardless of how good she seemed to be doing now, learning that their father thought her to be a dangerous creature would definitely undo some of the progress she'd made these past few weeks. Dean let out a frustrated sigh. Maybe he would have to tell Sam about it. Of course he'd be pissed that he kept it from him this long, but if Sammy knew then he could get the information he needed and Sammy would be able to keep her safe while he went to see Jenna. Of course, he had no intentions of telling Sam anything about what John had said about him. That was_ so_ not happening. It was beyond disturbing and would only serve to freak Sammy out and make him completely obsessed and fucked up. And really, one brother in that state was plenty.

"Dean, you awake?" Sam asked, cutting into Dean's thoughts. Dean turned to face his brother, who was lying back, looking at Dean.

"Well I am now." Dean grumped, though judging by Sam's eye roll he knew Dean had already been awake. "What's up, Sammy?"

"How long you been up?"

Dean shrugged, sitting up in his bed. "Few minutes."

"Yeah, right." Sam let it go, getting up and fishing around his dresser drawer for clean socks. Dean watched him, wondering at how comfortable Sam seemed to be moving in here. "I should get MJ up." He sat back down, pulling on his socks. "You running with us?"

Dean sat on the edge of his bed. "Why don't you let her sleep for now? I need to talk to you."

Sam looked up curiously, but said nothing.

"You know how you asked me if…Dad said anything before…"

Sam sat stock still, waiting.

Dean cleared his throat. "Well, he did." Dean said exhaling loudly.

Sam threw his hands up. "Dean, why-"

"Listen, Sammy." Dean interrupted. "I'm sorry I lied before. I just- I didn't know how to tell you."

"Tell me what, Dean?" Sam demanded. "What did Dad say?"

"He said that MJ _is_ our sister, but that she's connected to the demon somehow. He thought maybe that he was possessed when he was with Wendy and that somehow makes MJ part demon."

Sam was shaking his head before Dean had finished speaking. "He would've-"

"He was too drunk to remember it, Sam."

"Then how can he be sure-"

"That she's his?" Dean stood and crossed the room grabbing his jacket off the chair and digging the wrinkled piece of paper from the pocket. He handed it to Sam. "He gave me this. She's our sister, no doubt."

He gave Sam a moment to read the paternity test results and let the information sink in before he continued.

"He said uh- he said that he'd made sure she was safe and that the demon couldn't hurt her anymore." Dean's eyes roamed around the room as he spoke, his hands jammed in his pockets. After John collapsed, when the doctors were working on him, Dean had shared a knowing look with his brother. They hadn't spoken about it at all, but they both knew that the circumstances around MJ's return and their father's death were suspicious. The timing alone was enough for both brothers to assume that the two events were somehow connected. Dean knew his father had done something…made some kind of deal. And he would've known that even if his father hadn't hinted at it.

Sam finally looked up from the piece of paper in his hand, a blank look on his face, staring off into space as he thought about what Dean had just confirmed for him.

"He said the demon couldn't hurt her anymore, but that there might be other threats. "

Sam's eyes snapped into focus at that and he turned to face Dean. "What kind of threats?"

Dean shook his head as he started getting dressed. "He said there was a lot he didn't know, but that the demon wasn't the only thing we had to watch out for." Dean cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "He said she could even be a danger to herself."

Sam tensed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He nearly shouted.

"Shh!" Dean went to the door, quickly closing it. He turned back to Sam, buttoning his shirt. "I don't know what it means. I don't think Dad knew much for sure. But he knew enough to warn me not to let her out of my sight."

Sam stood, pacing the room. "We need to figure this out, Dean. We can't keep her safe if we don't know what we're fighting."

"I know that, Sam. I know. That's why I'm telling you all of this now."

Sam scoffed. "Yeah, you shoulda told me weeks ago."

Dean chose to ignore that. "I need your help so we can get some answers."

Sam stopped in his tracks, looking silently at his brother.

Dean continued. "I need you to help me track down Jenna. She's gotta know something useful, the freaking thing was up in her for a day."

"Dean." Sam took a step toward his brother. "We don't need to go anywhere or track anyone down to get answers." He pointed toward MJ's room. "She's got all the information we need. We just have to get it out of her." Sam continued, his eyes pleading with Dean to hear him out. "She was with that demon for more than a day. I think she knows why he wanted her so bad."

Dean shook his head. "Sam, she may not know anything. For all we know he just held her there and didn't tell her anything. Even if he did, since when are demons honest?"

"How do we know what she knows if we don't even ask her?" Sam challenged.

Dean tensed, closing the distance between himself and his brother. "Sam, we're not grilling her for information that she probably doesn't even have."

"Dean, if Dad thought this thing was a threat to her, that her connection to it puts her in danger, even after its dead, then the best place to start is at the source."

Dean turned away, shaking his head adamantly. "No. We find Jenna, we find out what she knows."

"I _guarantee_ you that MJ knows its end game! She knows exactly what he wanted from her and she knows _exactly_ what she's capable of! No one else can tell us that!" Sam shouted, getting frustrated. He had an idea of what Dean's reluctance was about, but this was too important to give in.

Dean turned back toward Sam, his eyes hard. "Lower your voice!" He ground out in a harsh whisper.

Sam stared at Dean for a moment. "She's gotta talk eventually, Dean. You can't shield her from this." He said evenly.

Dean stood, rigid, arms crossed over his chest, eyes boring into his brother's.

"Sam, have you _been_ here the past four months?" He asked, his voice quiet, his anger barely contained. "Huh? Were you _in_ that hospital room when Dad-" He swallowed. "Did you see her face? Did you see how _broken_ she was?" He took a step closer. "She's finally getting better. I'm not messing with that."

Sam took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. It would do no good for both of them to lose their tempers.

"Dean, Dr. Whitmarsh said-"

Dean cut him off, poking a finger into his chest. "I don't give a _fuck_ what the doctor said, we're not pushing this!" He turned away, clearly deciding this conversation was over.

Sam could feel the heat rising in his face. He knew he shouldn't push Dean just now, but knowing what they knew, what Dean had just told him…it would be downright dangerous to let this go. And the fact that Dean refused to see that really pissed Sam off. He took one step forward as Dean made his way toward the door.

"Dean, this is serious. If Dad thought she was in danger…I don't wanna upset her either, but it's bigger than that. We need this to keep her safe." Sam waited, but Dean didn't turn around. He stood facing the door, not moving a muscle. Sam continued, fueled by anger. "You know, I don't get you." He scoffed, taking one more step toward Dean. "I've watched you push and push and _push_ her for information to the point that I've wanted to smash your face in! Now, when it really counts, when it could be life or death you're gonna let up!"

Dean turned back suddenly, taking one giant step, grabbing handfuls of Sam's t-shirt and shoving him back against the wall. Dean just stared at him, fury plain in his features, his breathing fast. When he finally spoke, his voice was shaky and Sam knew he was on the verge of exploding. "We're gonna track down Jenna and I'm gonna go talk to her. And you're gonna stay here and take care of MJ and you're not gonna say one God damn word to her about this." He held his index finger up in Sam's face for emphasis. "_Not one word_!" Dean released his grip on Sam, backing away, eyes still murderous. "This discussion is over." He said before storming out.

Dean slammed the door behind him and looked up to see MJ standing outside her bedroom door, hand on her doorknob. Dean could tell from the look on her face that she was thinking about ducking back inside her room.

"Hey." Dean said, walking toward her, trying to play it cool, while wondering how much she'd heard.

"What's going on?" She asked, eyes wide with concern. "It sounded like Fight Club in there."

Dean shrugged. "Nothing. We were just talkin'." He nodded toward her room. "You should go get dressed for your run."

MJ ignored him, crossing her arms over her chest and fixing him with a stern look. "If you were just talking then how come you're all red and…twitchy?"

"Twitchy? I'm not twitchy."

"You are _so_ twitchy." She insisted.

"Never been twitchy a day in my life." Dean retorted.

"Liar." MJ accused, though he could see a grin pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"I'm- not- twitchy-" Dean said, purposefully giving exaggerated twitches of his face and shoulders with each word.

"Knock it off, Dean." MJ tried and failed to suppress a laugh as she smacked her brother in the arm before turning and heading back into her room to change.

Dean stood there a moment, a smile on his face. This was why he wouldn't push her. She never used to laugh. Hell, she had barely even smiled. But lately…these past few weeks he'd heard her laugh a lot and it _never_ got old. He found himself doing things to draw it from her. He wasn't going to do anything to risk that. And neither was Sam. They'd figure this out some other way.

The anger he'd carefully reeled in when he realized MJ was up was now slowly ebbing away as he made his way downstairs. He'd make Sammy see reason. Somehow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, guys! So, I know MJ was sort of absent from the first chapter and she's not really in this one either, but she'll be back soon:) The next chapter is coming along nicely so it should be up soon. Happy reading!**

**Chapter 2**

"_Well, we're about to find out because the results are in_!" Sam heard Maury's announcement blaring from the living room TV as he strode by, making him stop in his tracks and take a step back. He peeked into the room to see two sets of socked feet propped on the old, scuffed coffee table. He took a step into the room as MJ sat up on the edge of the couch, eyes glued to the screen.

"I'm telling you, Shaun is the daddy. Baby looks just like him." Dean argued, before taking a drink of his beer.

MJ shushed him with a wave of her hand as Maury peeled the envelope open.

"_When it comes to 9 month old Jaden, Shaun you are _not_ the father_." Maury's proclamation was met with uproarious applause and shouts from the audience.

Sam drew level with the couch, eyeing his brother and sister incredulously.

"Damn it!" Dean grumbled digging his wallet out of his back pocket and putting a ten dollar bill in MJ's outstretched hand.

"Told ya." MJ said with a triumphant smirk, pocketing her winnings before looking up at Sam. "Where's the pizza?" she asked him. Dean looked up expectantly.

Sam just looked back at the screen. "Are you guys seriously watching this crap?" He asked looking back at them and fixing Dean with a '_you're kidding, right_?' look.

"I'm not just watching. I'm taking Dean's money." MJ said eyes still on the TV as the mistaken mother ran crying from the stage while her fiancé did a celebratory dance for the audience.

"Alright," Dean said sitting up straighter. "Double or nothing Shaun forgives her, they kiss and make up and go home together."

MJ was shaking her head before he'd finished speaking. "You're on. Shaun is walking for sure."

Dean looked up at his brother. "Seriously, dude, where's the pizza?"

Sam just walked out of the room, shaking his head. He returned with the pizza he'd picked up and, of course, Dean's pie and they ate in front of the TV. Bobby had left on a hunt earlier that day, so it was just the three of them. Dean and Sam hadn't really spoken since this morning's blow up, but were cordial enough toward each other that MJ didn't seem to notice. After Maury ended and MJ had collected all of her winnings from a less than thrilled Dean, they watched Clint Eastwood movies while Dean polished off the remaining pie. Somewhere in the middle of Dirty Harry MJ passed out, leaning on Dean's shoulder.

Dean nudged her awake gently as the movie ended. "Time to hit the hay, kiddo." He said quietly.

MJ stirred and stood up, stretching. She kissed her brothers goodnight and headed upstairs as Sam began cleaning up. Dean stood with his hands in his pockets, hesitating.

"Listen Sammy-"

"Look, Dean," Sam cut him off. "I get where you're coming from. I do." He straightened up, walking toward the kitchen. "And I'll go along with you on this one." He placed the dirty dishes in the sink before turning to face Dean. "But you can't shelter her from everything. Not forever." Sam stood facing Dean, arms crossed over his chest. "And if it comes down to it and we've exhausted every other option, then we have to get her to talk."

Sam knew his brother well enough to know he'd never back down on this, so he wasn't going to fight it, but he was definitely going to make sure Dean knew he didn't agree with him.

At first Dean just stared back. "Fair enough." He finally agreed. He went to the fridge and grabbed two beers. "But in the meantime, I got a plan." He turned handing Sam a beer before opening his own and settling in one of the kitchen chairs. He motioned for Sam to join him. He waited until Sam was seated across from him to continue. "We gotta find Jenna and Wendy. See what they know about this demon and what it wanted with MJ."

"The demon's dead. How could its plans for MJ still put her in danger?" Sam asked calmly.

Dean shook his head his eyes wide and his face determined. "I don't know, but it's a place to start. Dad said there were still threats and if you and Bobby's…theory about her is right, then it seems like we should start at the source. We gotta find out why he was so hell bent on having her."

Sam sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I just don't know if you're gonna get the answers you're looking for this way, Dean."

Dean stood and began pacing the kitchen. Sam followed his movements with his eyes.

"I don't know either, Sam." He said throwing his hands up in frustration. "But I can't do nothing. And this is the only lead we got."

Dean could clearly read Sam's expression, knew he was thinking "not the _only_ lead". Dean's face reddened. Sam, knowing Dean was about to light into him again, put a hand up in surrender.

"Okay." Sam placated. "I can find Jenna. And as far as we know Wendy's still in Chicago. But Dean, do you think bringing MJ around her mother is a good idea?"

Dean stopped, looking down at Sam. "No. Which is why she's staying here with you. I'm going alone."

Sam scoffed. "Screw that, I'm going with you, Dean." Sam said, standing up. "MJ can stay with Bobby."

"Sam, the whole point of this is to keep MJ safe. And as far as I'm concerned, she's only safe when she's with us." He said pointing between them. "Until we get some answers, we don't trust anybody." Dean said turning away from his brother.

Sam took a step toward him. "Dean, I know we gotta be cautious here, but Bobby?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised.

Dean turned back toward his brother. "Bobby doesn't know anything about what Dad said and we're keeping it that way." Dean lowered his voice, his expression almost desperate. "The fewer people who know about this the better. It's not gonna sit well with hunters that she's got these…visions or whatever."

Sam was quiet for a moment before reluctantly nodding, thinking of his own abilities and knowing Dean was right. They hadn't told a soul about his visions. He shook his head, letting out a frustrated sigh. "Yeah, not to mention the fact that she's some kind of demon spawn, people hear that and they'll shoot first and ask questions later." He mused darkly.

Dean stiffened slightly. "You know I don't like you calling her that." He lightly chastised. He knew Sam didn't mean anything by it, but the word _spawn_…it grated on Dean. "I do trust Bobby. I just think for now we keep this one to ourselves." Dean sighed heavily, sitting back down in his vacated seat. "The only way I can do this is if I know she's with you. Otherwise I can't leave her at all." He looked up, eyes pleading with his younger brother. "With Dad gone…we're all we've got."

Sam couldn't argue with that logic. Dean's mention of their father brought a question to the forefront of Sam's mind. He'd been thinking about it since Dean's confession that morning. Sam sat down, resting his arms on the table. "Dean," he started quietly, not wanting to antagonize his brother any further. "You sure Dad didn't say anything else…anything about me?"

Dean held his brother's gaze for a moment before replying. "I'm sure, Sammy. Sorry." He answered simply as he stood back up.

Sam looked down, nodding.

"Now let's find Jenna." Dean said, clapping his hands together.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

The door opened a crack, Jenna's eye peeking out before she quickly slammed it shut again.

Dean sighed, knocking again.

"Go fuck yourself, Dean Winchester!" She called through the door. He heard the chain lock sliding home.

"Come on, Jenna. I just need to talk to you. Please." There was nothing but silence from the other side of the door. Dean ran a hand through his hair, agitated. "I drove all the way to Georgia from South Dakota. I'd rather not have this conversation with your front door, but I will!" He looked around at the well-manicured lawns and expensive cars in the neighboring driveways. There were a few people out doing yard work. "I'm guessing you don't want me to air our dirty laundry in front of your neighbors." He called loudly, winking at the woman two houses down who was looking at him curiously, garden hose in hand.

Jenna opened the door and stood in the doorway, one hand on the door, ready to slam it shut at a moment's notice. "We" she said pointing between them, "don't have any dirty laundry, Dean." She fixed him with an icy glare.

Dean shrugged. "Technically, no," He conceded, leaning closer and lowering his voice. "But I doubt your brother wants his neighbors to hear mention of his sister's involvement with demons." It was a low blow, Dean knew. But he was desperate.

Jenna glared at him for another moment before stepping aside to let him in. Dean sauntered inside, letting out a low whistle as he took in the entryway. "Nice digs. What does your brother do again?"

"How did you find me here?" She asked eyeing him suspiciously as he continued to look around the house, seemingly intrigued.

He turned to her with a smirk. "It's kinda what I do, remember?" He asked. He was the picture of calm and confidence, but Jenna knew better.

Jenna closed the door. "He's a contractor." She answered his question as she crossed her arms. "Now what the hell do you want, Dean?"

Dean paused, looking her in the eye for a moment. "I need your help." He tried, thinking a straight forward approach might work best.

Her eyes widened. "Oh." She nearly laughed. "You need my help? Why didn't you say, so?" She asked, throwing her hands in the air. "Of course, I'll help you out. Why wouldn't I?" She was practically shouting now as she stared him dead in the eye. Behind the anger Dean could see the fear in her eyes. "I lost my job! My reputation." She shook her head, taking another step toward him. "I was attacked by a crazy…" She paused, struggling to find the right word, "person because of you!" She yelled arms crossed over her chest. "I'm just _dying_ to help you out!"

"Who's this guy?" Dean turned toward the entryway from the kitchen and saw a man about Sammy's height- and twice his width- staring down at him. Dean knew this was Jenna's brother. He looked a lot like Jenna. Same nose, square jaw, and right now, same pissed off look in his eyes. He took a step into the entryway, eyes on his sister as he jerked his thumb in Dean's direction. "Is this jerk off the reason you had to leave Chicago?" He asked.

He clearly intended his question to be intimidating to Dean as he moved to stand enxt to Jenna. Dean rolled his eyes. He really didn't have time for this crap.

"No, Sean. It's fine, really." Jenna tried, shaking her head.

But judging from the look Sean was now sending Dean's way, he had heard Jenna's rant. "Did this joker _hire _someone to attack you?" Sean asked as he adjusted his stance so he was standing in front of his sister, blocking her from Dean's view as he pointed over his shoulder at Dean.

Jenna was shaking her head furiously. "No, Sean, you misunderstood."

Dean took a step toward them. "Hey, who you callin' a joker?" He asked, agitated. He really didn't like what this guy was suggesting.

Jenna looked around her brother's massive form at Dean. "Not helping, Dean." She chastised, as Sean turned away from her to come face to face with Dean.

"What kind of sick, twisted son of a bitch are you?" Sean demanded hands balled into fists at his sides.

Dean stood his ground, sighing. "I never hurt your sister, pal. Just calm down." He said evenly. He really didn't want to go around with this guy.

"Don't tell me to calm down! You got 10 seconds to get your pansy ass off my property before I pump it full of lead!" He threatened, jabbing a finger into Dean's chest.

"Pansy?" Dean asked, all pretense of calmness forgotten, now toe to toe with Sean.

"Okay, whoa, whoa, whoa." Jenna wedged herself between the two men, trying and failing to push them apart. "Knock it off, both of you!"

They seethed at each other over her head as she looked between them.

"Dean, I think you should go."

Dean just looked down at her as Sean took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest and waiting for Dean to leave.

"Please." She added, not quite meeting his eye.

Dean felt his stomach flip at the clearly pained look on Jenna's face. Guilt swept over him as he turned toward the door. He knew that just being here was making everything worse for Jenna…but MJ…

Dean stopped, turning back toward her, hoping Sean didn't have his gun on him.

"It's for MJ. Just hear me out, I'm begging you."

It took some persuading by Jenna for Sean to allow Dean to be alone with her. He settled on letting them sit on the patio by the pool while he watched from the sliding glass door.

Dean looked around the yard, not sure how to begin, not really looking at Jenna sitting across from him, dark sunglasses over her eyes. "This is a nice place…hotter than hell, but nice."

"Cut to the chase, Dean." She ordered, her legs crossed and her foot bouncing up and down impatiently.

Dean looked up at her face. He didn't like those glasses at all. It was stupid to cover up those eyes…he shook his head, focusing on his purpose for being here. "I need to know what you know about the demon's plans for MJ."

Jenna's foot stilled and even though he couldn't see her eyes he knew she was staring back at him. She said nothing.

Dean leaned over the small table toward her. "I know it's probably the last thing you wanna talk about, but I have to know. I can't keep her safe if I don't know."

Jenna heaved a sigh, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. She was silent for another minute or two before speaking, her gaze cast downward, making her dark blonde hair fall like a curtain over her face. She spoke to the ground.

"I'll tell you what I…saw. I can't make sense of all of it, but I'll tell you what I remember."

"That's all I'm asking." Dean encouraged, his eyes glued to her.

Jenna took a deep breath, pausing for several moments before finally speaking. "When he was inside of me it was like…like his thoughts were my thoughts. Like I was working out my next move, but at the same time I was…horrified at the plans I-" she grunted in frustration, sitting back in her chair and impatiently shoving her hair back behind her ear. "I mean _he_ was making."

"What kind of plans?" Dean tried to keep his voice calm, his demeanor casual. He knew he had to be patient with her, and truthfully he felt horribly guilty that she had endured that kind of horror, but he was so close to having some answers, it was hard not to rush her.

Jenna gripped the arms of her chair, taking another deep breath. "He wanted to find MJ. He wanted you to bring her to him." She barely whispered and Dean found himself leaning forward even further toward her.

"What did he want her for?" Dean asked urgently.

Jenna uncrossed her legs, relinquishing her death grip on the armrests and fiddling with the hem of her skirt. That's when Dean finally noticed how badly her hands were shaking. Dean's gaze shifted to her face and he saw her lower lip trembling violently.

"Um," she started, her voice breaking.

Dean was up, moving toward her, crouching in front of her in a flash. "Hey." He soothed, taking her hands in his without hesitation. "It's okay. Take a breath. Relax." Holding both her hands in his left, he reached up with his right hand slowly removing the sunglasses. Her eyes were red and swimming with unshed tears. She was determinedly looking anywhere but at Dean.

Dean heaved a sigh, getting to his feet and pulling his chair over next to hers. She continued to studiously avoid his gaze.

"Listen, I didn't mean to be so...pushy about this. It's just when it comes to MJ…I guess I didn't even stop to think about how awful this was for you." He paused, running a hand over his face. "I'm sorry to make you hash it all out again."

Jenna sniffed, still not looking at him. "I want to help you, Dean. I really do. I just…whatever this thing is…whatever it did to me…it fucked with my head. And that," She stood up, pacing the patio angrily, "pisses me off, Dean." She shook her head, pointing a finger at him. "I mean it _really_ pisses me off." She stopped, facing him, pointed back at herself. "My life is literally destroyed because of him and the kicker is I don't even know who…or what the fucker is!"

Dean just stared silently back at her, his face expressionless.

Jenna stood there another moment, chest heaving and face red with anger. Finally, when she knew he wouldn't answer she returned to her chair, seeming somehow deflated and tired. "I just…I don't want to be afraid anymore."

Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees watching her angrily wipe the tears from her face. "I never wanted you to get involved in all of this. I mean that."

"I know." She said quietly, letting out a shaky breath.

"If it's any consolation, the demon who possessed you is gone. He can't hurt you or anyone else ever again."

Jenna just stared back at Dean, a pensive look on her face. She said nothing.

Dean looked down, shaking his head. "I wish I could tell you he was the only one, but there's plenty more like him out there."

Jenna matched his posture, leaning forward. His chair was so close to hers her forearm grazed his where it rested on her leg. "And that's what you do for a living? Track down demons and kill them?" Jenna guessed.

Dean took a deep breath. "Something like that."

"And MJ," She hesitated, as if trying to find the right words. "She's…different? They think she's special." She barely whispered it.

Dean's eyes were trained on her, his heart beating rapidly. "What did you see, Jenna?" He asked quietly.

She turned away from Dean, her eyes unfocused, looking out over the pool, clearly seeing the images the demon had planted in her mind. "He wanted to change her. He knew if he could get her to trust him, he could make her do things for him. He thought she was really powerful. Unstoppable. He envisioned himself…winning, but I don't know what he was winning…or who he was winning against." She swallowed, her forehead scrunching up in concentration. "The MJ he pictured…she wasn't _our_ MJ. She was angry and… destructive." She turned toward Dean, focusing once again on his face. He saw anguish in her eyes. And fear. "She could kill with her mind, Dean." She said the words broken as a sob escaped her lips. "I watched her kill and not because he made her, but because she _wanted_ to."

Dean stared back at her, frozen in shock and disbelief.

She brushed a tear off her face. "It's like she _wasn't human_, Dean." She whispered.

Dean composed himself, clearing his throat and shoving the panic down. "Listen" He said urgently, taking hold of her hand. She looked up at him, a pained expression on her face. "What you saw." He shook his head determinedly. "That's not gonna happen. I'm not gonna let it. MJ's not changing, okay?"

She nodded, making attempts to regain her composure. She sat up straight, pulling her hair back, away from her face. After a moment, she let out a humorless laugh. "No wonder you lied about what you do. Anyone in their right mind would think you were a complete psycho. Hell, I'm still questioning my own sanity."

Dean stood, still somewhat dazed from what Jenna had described, but trying not to let it show.

"Listen, thanks. I mean, I know this was the last thing you wanted to do, so…just thanks." He cleared his throat awkwardly.

Jenna stood, smoothing out her skirt. "Of course. MJ's such a good kid, I just want her to be okay." She said sincerely.

Dean knew she meant it, making him regret getting her involved in all of this that much more. He gave his best attempt at his signature smirk.

"You're a good egg, Cullen. Take care."

He turned to leave when she called after him.

"Dean, listen. I still talk with some of my co-workers. MJ's case has been reassigned. With Wendy back and your father…" She took a tentative step toward him. "I don't think they know he's passed away, but it's a matter of time…" She bit her lip.

Dean tensed. "What are you getting at?"

"Just don't be surprised if you get a phone call soon. In the meantime, I wouldn't stay in any one spot for too long. Make yourselves scarce."

Dean nodded. "That's the general idea." He agreed.

"I'm sorry about your dad." She said, stopping him once again from leaving.

"Thanks." Dean answered, awkwardly, turning back so he was facing her, but keeping his eyes cast downward. No one spoke for a moment, Dean wondering at this woman who despite being possessed by a demon and having to completely uproot her life, despite living in constant paralyzing fear, still managed to put other people first. He looked up at her finally, to be met with caring, sincere eyes. He took a step back toward her, something she'd said earlier stirring in his mind: '_She wasn't _our_ MJ_.' Our.

"You really do care about MJ don't you?" he asked her quietly.

She gave him an incredulous look, like this was the stupidest question he could've asked. "Of course." She said simply. "She deserves to be happy. You all do."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So here's the next chapter! The Winchesters are still at Bobby's, but not to worry, they will be back on the road in chapter 4 and I for one can not wait! Happy reading:)**

**Chapter 3**

MJ had been been tossing and turning for hours now, unable to turn her brain off. She knew if she fell asleep she would have weird dreams, dreams about her time with the demon. They weren't terribly graphic or frightening. In fact, once she woke she could rarely remember any details of the dreams. No, it wasn't the dreams themselves that scared her, it was the possibility the dreams would make her _remember_. Because for some reason she had absolutely no recollection of anything that happened from the time she saw the demon in the cabin until she was kneeling on Dean's hospital room floor. Maybe it was the demon's doing. Maybe some higher power had mercifully erased those memories. Whatever it was MJ wasn't going to question it. And she certainly wasn't going to tempt fate by thinking too much about it. She knew that Dr. Whitmore wanted her to try and remember, but the way she saw it, she had plenty of messed up shit to keep her in therapy for ten years without ever talking about those 36 hours with that freak of nature.

MJ huffed, punching her pillow as she tried to find a comfortable position. Sam and Dean took her for an idiot. Their lame story about Dean needing to check out a lead on a poltergeist, but that it wasn't necessary for all of them to go? Please. Dean had barely let her out of his sight the past four months then he's suddenly leaving for a week? And since he left two days ago Sam had become her new shadow. She had heard more of their argument that day in their bedroom than she'd let on. She knew that Dean wanted answers about MJ's visions and the demon who'd taken her. And she knew that Sam wanted to grill her about it. She felt a sense of gratitude toward Dean for forbidding Sam from asking her about it. She may not remember anything, but she still really didn't want to be interrogated. She turned onto her side scooting further under the comforter.

She totally got why they wanted answers. What didn't make sense to her was the apparent urgency of the situation. They were operating under the assumption that the demon who took her was dead, so why was digging up dirt about him time sensitive? Why did Dean have to run off alone to look into it right now? What the hell was at stake? She flopped onto her back, sighing heavily. Whatever it was she wouldn't know anything about it because Dean _insisted_ on treating her like a child who couldn't handle hearing the truth.

Her phone vibrated on the nightstand, interrupting her pouting. She rolled onto her side grabbing it and flipping it open, reading the new text from Patrick.

_If Dean's away I'd say it's the perfect time 4 me to visit;)_

Well, that certainly took her mind off of Dean and Sam's weirdness. She held the phone tightly, reading the text over and over. Her heart sped up just thinking about what he was suggesting. She liked Patrick. Whenever she was feeling overwhelmed or upset by their current situation or all the shit her therapy sessions drudged up, she would send him a quick text and she could count on him to respond with some random weird story or stupid joke that always worked to make her feel better.

It had all started with an unexpected text shortly after they'd arrived at Bobby's. Four words: '_Hey, are you okay?_' MJ was touched that he was checking in on her, a girl who had not only lied to him about her age resulting in him sleeping with a fifteen year old, thereby committing statutory rape, but who had also nearly gotten him killed by Dean. MJ still couldn't believe Dean hadn't pummeled Patrick. Sure, Patrick had no way of knowing MJ was underage and full of crap, but it's not like Dean was known for thinking logically, or, really, thinking at all especially when it came to MJ. So for Patrick to be willing to push all of that aside and check up on her was, in her opinion, beyond sweet.

Since then they had been texting and calling each other regularly. At first it was entirely plutonic and MJ was glad for that. She knew this was not the time to start any kind of relationship, especially one with someone six years older than her. So when Patrick dropped the first not so subtle hint that he might be interested in something more than friendship with her, she had ignored it and hoped he'd let it go. But he hadn't. He was persistent and before long MJ found herself enjoying his attempts to take things to the next level. She wasn't exactly outwardly flirting back, but she certainly wasn't making any attempts to discourage him.

A small part of her knew it was a bad idea and that it would likely not end well for either of them. But another part, a bigger, more forceful part of her liked how she felt when she was talking to him. He listened to her. He complimented her. He didn't treat her like a kid who needed to be protected from the big, bad world. It was nice to be respected and treated as an equal for once. After all, hadn't that been what Dr. Whitmore was preaching to her? That she needed to respect herself in order to be respected by others? And that she should only seek the company of men who respected her as a person? _Yeah, way to justify it_, she thought to herself. _I'm sure Dean will understand once I explain it _that_ way._

Of course, Sam and Dean had no clue she was talking to Patrick. And MJ and Patrick both knew that if Patrick wanted to hold on to his testicles for the foreseeable future, MJ's brothers could never find out.

MJ sighed, typing a response.

_Are you forgetting about my giant brother Sam and Uncle Bobby's vast shotgun collection?_

She waited to see what he'd say, biting her lip. Her phone lit up seconds later.

_Dude, I miss you. I'm willing to take my chances._

MJ didn't respond, not sure what to say. She was pretty sure she wanted to see him, but how in the hell could they pull this off without getting caught?

Her phone screen lit up again.

_So what do ya say?_

* * *

Dean stood on the sidewalk looking up at the rundown building in front of him. It was dusk, and he was sure that that was a good thing, because in the harsh light of day he was sure this place would look even more depressing.

Wendy knew he was coming. He figured there was no point in just showing up here and surprising her, finding God knows what. He'd called and she'd sounded okay on the phone. Said she was glad he'd called her, that she'd gotten herself clean. But he wasn't holding his breath. Not after what she'd been like the last time he'd seen her…

_**Flashback**_

MJ hadn't slept since she came back to them from her time with the demon. She hadn't cried either. Just sort of stared…at nothing. She had stood between Sam and Dean while they watched their father burn, her face stoic and her eyes unseeing. She'd shown no emotion at all.

She had said nothing about what had happened while she was with the demon. Wouldn't tell them how she'd gotten back, although Dean was pretty sure he knew the answer to that. Their attempts to comfort her were met with no reaction whatsoever.

Sam had used the word 'catatonic' when talking to Dean as the brothers lagged behind MJ, making their way into a motel shortly after saying their final goodbyes to their father. They were both beyond worried and at a total loss as to how to help her. Dean watched his sister lay down on the bed, fully clothed, her eyes not closing, just staring off into nothingness.

Sam made his way toward her, his face a mask of worry.

Dean sighed heavily as something occurred to him. Wendy had disappeared sometime after John was pronounced dead. Dean hadn't given her a second thought. Until now. He hated himself for even considering asking that woman for help. After what she had done to MJ…but he was beyond desperate.

"Sammy." He said quietly. When his brother looked up, he canted his head to the side, beckoning Sam to him. Sam looked back down at MJ as he stood and crossed the room. "Look," Dean said in an undertone, looking over at his unmoving sister, "We need help."

Sam considered his brother carefully. "What are you thinking?" He asked slowly.

"I think we should call Wendy." Dean said.

Sam just looked at him for a moment before letting out a low chuckle. "You're joking, right?"

Dean just looked back at Sam, stone faced.

Sam crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head. "You have officially lost your mind." Sam whispered harshly.

Dean looked over at MJ and gestured for Sam to follow him outside. Dean left the door ajar as he turned to face his pissed off brother.

"We are in way over our heads here, Sammy. I don't like it either, but I got nothing else."

"What exactly are you suggesting here?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. I just thought maybe Wendy could…snap her out of this."

"She needs intense therapy, Dean. Maybe even meds. Not some junky who's never been there for her!"

Dean was nodding as Sam spoke. "We _are_ gonna get her those things. As soon as we get to Bobby's we'll take her to a hospital and get her whatever she needs. But right now…I can't take this." He ran a hand over his face in frustration, turning away from his brother. "This kills me, man. Even suggesting it…but she's broken, Sammy. And me and you…we can't fix her. I'm afraid-" He stopped, his voice breaking. He took a deep breath, shaking his head. "I hate that woman as much as you do, maybe more. But right now I'd ask the devil himself if I thought it would help."

Sam was quiet for a long time. Dean finally turned back toward him, his eyes shining.

"Do you really think she can help?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean shrugged. "I think it's worth a shot. She did some horrible things to MJ, but she's still her mother and MJ still loves her."

An hour later Sam was seated in his usual spot, perched on MJ's bed, watching her silently while Dean paced the room. There was a soft knock on the door making Sam look up at his brother. Dean silently went to answer the door. He nodded at Wendy, not really looking at her and stepped to the side so she could enter the room. Dean stole a quick glance at her as he closed the door behind her. She looked much the same as she had at the hospital, except that she wasn't shaking quite as badly. Dean tried not to think about what she had done to ease the tremors.

Wendy's eyes landed very briefly on Dean as she walked in, scanning the room. Her gaze stopped on MJ and she paused for only a second before striding toward MJ, more sure of herself than Dean had seen her yet. She didn't hesitate, not even when Sam stilled beside her, clearly uncomfortable with this. Wendy ignored him as she swiftly scooped MJ up in her arms and cradled her like a baby.

"It's okay, sweetheart. Mommy's here." Wendy softly cooed in MJ's ear as she gently rocked her back and forth.

At first MJ stayed frozen and then slowly her features melted into a pained expression. A tortured wail broke free as the tears sprang to her eyes and she began sobbing, the force behind it making both her and Wendy's bodies shake. Sam stood and moved slowly to Dean's side as they both watched, caught somewhere between relief and sadness as they watched their sister fall apart. After a few minutes Sam turned to his brother, an impressed look on his face, silently thanking him for calling Wendy. Dean just shrugged in response, folding his arms over his chest as he focused back on his sister. He still wasn't sure he'd made the right decision.

Over an hour later, Sam sat at the table, mentally and physically exhausted. After nearly an hour of MJ alternating between hysterics, completely silent tears and everything in between while Wendy muttered reassurances to her, MJ finally fell asleep in Wendy's arms while the boys looked on, awkward and helpless. Wendy continued to hold MJ while she slept, occasionally looking up at Dean with a strange expression on her face. Sam tried to catch Dean's eye to find out what was up, but Dean never looked his way.

Eventually Wendy squirmed her way out from under MJ, laying her daughter's head carefully on the pillow and placing a kiss to her forehead before making her way determinedly toward Dean.

"I should go now before she wakes up." She said simply. And Sam could see it. A change in her, even since she'd walked in the door. The tremors had returned full force and there was a look of imminent need in her eyes. She was jonesing for a hit.

Dean just looked at her for a moment, his jaw muscle twitching. "I'll walk you out." He finally said as he headed toward the door. He looked back at Sam. "Sammy, stay with her." He said before following Wendy out and closing the door behind them.

Wendy stood a few feet from the door, facing him, shifting her weight impatiently from foot to foot and chewing her lip expectantly. She didn't look up at him, just waited.

Dean considered her a moment, the appreciation he felt toward her for snapping MJ out of her near comatose state warring with the deep seeded disgust and rage he carried just for her. He stood there, his stance rigid as he took out his wallet and handed her a few bills.

She snatched them from his outstretched hand and immediately turned toward the parking lot without so much as another glance in Dean's direction.

"What, no 'thank you'?" She muttered as she counted the money.

Something exploded inside of Dean and he took a step forward grabbing her by her upper arm and pulling her around, slamming her back into the wall. His left hand moved immediately to her throat-not applying pressure, just resting there- his right hand gripping her arm, his hand closing easily around it. Her eyes widened in surprise and she made a feeble attempt to free herself before going completely still.

"I know you only came here for the money and that all you can be bothered to care about is getting high, but would it kill you to _pretend to give a_ _shit_ about that girl in there?" He growled, his expression furious.

"Oh, fuck you, you self-righteous son of a bitch!" She snarled, glaring up at him. "You think you know me? You have no fucking idea what my life is like!"

Dean maintained his hold on her and squeezed the hand that was around her throat, just enough so she knew he meant business. His eyes were murderous as he looked down at her. "I know you left your child alone, to fend for herself for months." She began to struggle against him and Dean leaned in closer to her face, his left hand clamping down on her throat a little harder. "I know you pimped out your own daughter to drug dealers for a _fucking crack rock_." He took a deep breath, straightening slightly. "And now I know that for $300 you can act like a mother for sixty minutes." He growled.

Wendy reached up pulling at his arm, and this time he backed away letting her go. She moved quickly, clutching the money in her fist.

"Don't even think about coming back around her!" Dean called after her, the threat clear in his voice. In that moment his father's final words to him were the furthest thing from his mind.

_**Present**_

Dean descended the steps into the basement of the building, where Wendy's apartment was located. The hallway was dark and musty, a single light bulb illuminating the dirty walls and stained carpet. He made his way to the other end, where apartment eight was located and rapped his knuckles three times on the door as he scanned the hallway. He noticed a man weaving his way toward him from the far end, muttering something that might have been English.

The door opened and Wendy looked up at him not quite meeting his eyes, a small, unsure smile on her face. She stepped back, letting him inside.

"Dean." She said.

He nodded back at her, scanning her face. She still looked thin, but not quite so unhealthy. Her hair was combed and her clothes actually fit her. She wasn't shaking, but she also didn't have that spaced out look in her eyes like she was high. Dean thought she might actually be sober as he walked past her into the tiny apartment. It was basically one room split into a kitchenette and a living room. Wendy had a small couch and a mattress on the floor. There were boxes of clothes on the floor and a half full ashtray on a TV table that was serving as dining/coffee table. There was a tiny kitchenette and one door off the living room that Dean guessed was the bathroom. That was it. There was one tiny, grimy window high up on the wall that even on the brightest of days probably didn't let in much light. The entire place reeked of cigarette smoke.

Wendy gestured toward the couch, eyes cast downward as she sat next to him, perched on the edge, her hands in her lap clearly uncomfortable.

"You said you needed to talk to me. What about?" Wendy asked, eyes still cast downward, picking nervously at her fingernails.

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, I need to know what you know about this demon that kidnapped MJ."

Wendy's head snapped up, her eyes wide, finally looking at Dean's face. "The demon's dead." She said an edge to her voice.

Dean held a hand up toward her. "I know. But I just need to make sure that there's no…loose ends. We gotta be thorough, that's all. It's a good idea to know everything there is to know. Just in case."

Dean danced around the truth, not wanting to give too much away, but also needing to convince her to be honest. He was surprised when a small smile crept over her face.

"You sound just like your father. You always were so much alike."

Dean shifted uncomfortably on the couch, his eyes shifting to look around the room. Something about this woman talking about his father…talking like she knew him…it irritated him. He cleared his throat again.

"Anyway, you told John that the demon had come once before for MJ." He prompted.

The smile vanished, leaving a haunted look on her face. She nodded. "When I was pregnant. I was getting ready to deliver and he came to me in one of the nurses. Said that he was MJ's _real_ father and that he'd be coming for her when the time was right. But that in the meantime he'd be watching out for her so I'd better not fuck it up." She shook her head. "After that, I could _feel_ him. All the time. It's like we were connected. I knew when he was close, watching her. Knew when he was mad or happy. It scared the shit outta me."

Dean was staring at her, not sure what to make of her confession. She looked back down at her hands.

"He didn't show himself to me again until a little over a year ago. I was walking home. I knew he was close by, but I figured he was checking in on MJ, like he did before. It worried me a little because he hadn't done that since she was a little kid. Then he came at me, in a cop this time. Told me it was almost time and that if I helped him convince her to go with him that he wouldn't hurt us."

"That was the night you took off."

She looked up, nodding. "I had to. He was using me to get to her. I don't know how, but I knew if I got away from her he couldn't find her. I didn't want to leave her alone, but what else could I do?"

"You could've told John. Why didn't you tell him when she was born? He could've helped you. He could've figured it out and stopped _all_ of this from happening!" Dean nearly shouted, thinking of how different MJ's life could've been if she'd only gone to John for help. Hell, John would most likely be here now if she had just told him the truth from the get go.

"I wanted to. Honest. But when he got there, right after MJ was born…he was so happy. So proud. I don't know I just couldn't do that to him."

"And never, in _all_ the time you knew he was out there, just biding his time until he could steal your daughter and do _God knows what to her_ did it cross your mind to go to John for help?" Dean wasn't holding back now, couldn't fathom how she could've made such a reckless decision.

"That _thing_ would've killed John! Don't you get that?!" She shouted back, tears swimming in her eyes. "There was nothing John could've done. _He would've killed him_!" She stood, hands fisted at her sides, her face growing red. "You think I liked living this way?! Always having a monster inside my head? Never being able to rest and know that Mary Jane was safe? I lived in a constant state of fear. _Constant_."

Dean looked up at her, slightly taken aback. When he'd recovered his train of thought, he stood in front of her, careful to lower his voice.

"And now?"

"Now…he's just…gone. That's how I know he's dead. I knew the minute it happened. Right before MJ came back. It was like having a chain around my neck, always pulling me down for 15 years. And then it just…broke." She sat back down, the tears now falling down her face. "I did try to tell him, you know. After I left her, I called him." She wiped at her face. "It was too late."

Dean resumed his seat beside her, his elbows resting on his knees as he processed what she'd told him. The silence stretched on until Dean finally broke it, turning to face her.

"You know, John _was_ her father."

Wendy frowned slightly. "I always knew that. There was never any question."

Dean just nodded as he stood.

"Well, thanks." He said awkwardly. He had no clue how to leave this. He was grateful he had at least some answers, but no amount of information she gave him could undo the horrible things she had put MJ through. He turned toward the door.

Wendy stood quickly taking a step toward him.

"How is she?" She asked.

Dean stopped, but didn't turn around. "She's better."

"Is she here?" She asked and Dean didn't miss the hope that had crept into her voice.

He turned toward her. "No." He watched her face fall in true disappointment. "But she's good. Really."

Wendy nodded in understanding and Dean turned to leave once more.

"Do you think I could see her sometime?" She blurted.

Dean sighed, turning back again. "Look, Wendy-"

"Please?" She begged. "I'm clean, I swear." She moved quickly into the tiny kitchen area and retrieved her purse. "I did thirty days inpatient and I'm going to meetings." She dug around in her purse and pulled out a chip. "See? 60 days sober. Well, 63 to be exact." Dean just looked at her, saying nothing. "Please, Dean. I just wanna see her. That's all."

"It's just…not a good-"

The rest of Dean's words were cut off by a loud, insistent pounding at Wendy's door.

"Open up, Wendy. I know you in there. Can't hide forever, baby." A greasy voice cooed through the door, clearly trying to sound cool and authoritative. This was followed by more pounding so forceful that the lock rattled, threatening to give.

Wendy walked past Dean to the door, quickly setting the chain lock.

"Friend of yours?" Dean joked weakly, watching Wendy as she walked back by him.

"Sorry about that." She said quietly, face reddening, before heading back toward the living room. "Just a pusher who knew me from before. Musta caught wind I was back in town." She shrugged like this was an everyday thing, no more concerning than an annoying telemarketer. "He'll give up and go away in a few minutes."

Dean walked back toward her trying not to lose focus.

"The thing is, Wendy, she was pretty torn up by everything. You saw how she was when-"

The pounding resumed, and this time the words that followed had a decidedly threatening edge to them. "I ain't leavin' here 'til I see you, baby. I'll do what I gotta do, ya hear? So you open this damn door." The voice demanded. There was a tapping sound, like fingers drumming on the door for a moment before he spoke again this time in a somewhat quieter voice. "Ya know I got whatcha need."

Wendy didn't look toward the door, her eyes on Dean, waiting for his answer as if they hadn't been interrupted. If it weren't for the deep blush creeping up her cheekbones, Dean might've thought she hadn't even heard the man speak.

Dean forged on. "I mean, she's making progress right now and-"

"Wendy!" The banging this time issued from the bottom of the door, and the shoddy hinges on the wood looked close to giving way as the door was repeatedly kicked. When the assault on the door finally ended, the man spoke in a deadly quiet voice, still loud enough for Dean and Wendy to easily catch every word. "I ain't never gonna give up. Never. And the longer you make me wait the worse it gonna be for you, baby. Ya know ya can't hide from me, so quit bein' fuckin' stupid and open this door you bony ass cunt." He hissed.

Dean was frozen, standing stock still for what seemed like minutes, but was probably only a few seconds. Thoughts raced through his head. He had less than no connection to this woman. He had no attachment to her and had on countless occasions, while trying in vain to mend the wounds she'd inflicted on his damaged sister, fantasized about her slow, painful death. He had held her in the same regard as the monsters they hunted, convinced that she deserved no more compassion than those evil creatures. But in none of the scenarios he'd envisioned of her getting what she deserved, was Dean ever in a position to step in and help her. Did he care what the man on the other side of that door did to her? Not really. Still, it was one thing to get satisfaction from hearing about her getting her ass kicked, after the fact. It was something entirely different to stand idly by and watch it happen.

MJ's face flashed through Dean's mind and he knew how much it would upset her to know her mother was hurt or killed. It would nearly kill her to know that Dean was in a position to stop it and did nothing. MJ loved this woman, possibly out of obligation, but she loved her all the same. And as much as Dean wished it weren't true, John had cared about her, too. He'd defended the woman with his last breath and with that undisputable fact at the forefront of his mind, Dean sprang into action as the door finally gave out, crashing from its rusty hinges.

The man took a step inside, scanning the room, his eyes skimming over Dean like he was of no more significance than the ratty couch before he honed in on Wendy. He moved determinedly toward her, a nasty grin on his face. Dean swiftly moved so he was standing in front of Wendy, facing the tall, dark, broad shouldered man with beady eyes and a shaved head. The man looked surprised for a split second before Dean grabbed him by the front of his leather jacket and hauled him forward, nearly pulling him off his feet. Dean reached around with his free hand and placed his arm around the man's neck, pulling him down to his knees on the floor in front of the couch. Dean swiftly pulled his pistol from his waistband and held it just under the man's face, so the barrel was snug against the underside of the man's chin.

The man said nothing, panting to catch his breath and tilting his head back to try and put some space between his face and the gun.

"You should leave. Now." Dean said quietly. He cocked the gun before adding, "And don't you even _think_ about coming back."

Dean pulled the gun back, but kept it aimed at the man as he got unsteadily to his feet, glaring daggers at Dean. He turned to glare at Wendy and Dean took a step to the side, blocking her from the man's angry gaze.

Dean didn't lower his gun until the man had walked back out the door and down the hallway and he heard the heavy outer door slam shut behind him. He turned to face Wendy. She had her arms crossed tightly over her midsection and was staring at the floor, her bottom lip between her teeth.

"This is why!" Dean shouted, wild eyed and waving his gun around. "You might be clean, but you're still living in it! You got your past literally banging down your door and you think you're ready to see the daughter you left to fend for herself? You'd be bringing all that pain and hurt right to the surface. How's that gonna help either one of you?"

Wendy said nothing. She didn't move at all, and Dean saw the tear slide down her cheek and splash onto the floor.

Dean sighed heavily. "Look, Wendy," He began, shoving his gun back into his waistband at the small of his back, "She's not ready. Too much has happened and she's finally starting to heal and seeing you…" He shook his head, not quite meeting her eye, "I think it would just hurt her. So I'm sorry. It's not a _no_, it's just…_not right now_." His tone was apologetic, but nonetheless final as he turned once more to leave.

Dean thought about throwing her a bone: like giving her a tentative date of when she could see MJ, maybe allowing her to talk to MJ over the phone. He also considered staying and fixing her completely destroyed door. But he couldn't do any of that. He had given her all that he was capable of giving her. He didn't have anything left. His only thought now was getting home to MJ and Sam as quickly as humanly possible.

He had learned a lot about this demon, which had been the point of this trip. He had thought that knowing more would make him feel better, more in control. But it only filled him with an all new level of panic. Sure, Jenna and Wendy's information gave them a direction to go in, but it also gave them a whole new set of unnerving questions that Dean knew would nag at his mind both day and night.

Amidst all of these troubling questions was one certainty: They needed to move on. It was time to get back on the road.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey! So, don't arm the firing squad, but I sorta lied. The gang does get back on the road, but not until the very end of this chapter. Sorry! Once I fleshed out the story it was just longer than I'd anticipated. Just means more story for you in the end:) Love you all! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 4**

Dean returned to Bobby's late at night, killing the headlights before pulling up to the house. He was dead on his feet, hadn't really slept at all since he'd left here a week ago. His brain was working overtime trying to make sense of everything Jenna and Wendy had told him. Between that and the general sense of uneasiness that always came with being away from Sam and MJ he found even trying to sleep to be pretty useless. He sighed, walking toward the house, thinking of his waiting bed.

Dean froze, mid stride when he caught movement to his right, around the side of the porch. He slowly turned his head and even under the cover of night made out the unmistakable form of a man climbing the willow tree beside the house, deftly moving up the trunk until he was right outside of MJ's bedroom window.

Dean snapped quickly into action, jumping the porch steps in one leap and noiselessly entering the house. He took the stairs two at a time, drawing his pistol as he reached the second floor landing. He wasn't surprised to see Bobby awake, standing in the hallway outside of MJ's closed bedroom door, shotgun in hand. Dean caught his eye in the dim moonlight filtering in through the window and motioned to his and Sam's bedroom, letting the older hunter know he was going in through the adjoining bathroom since he knew that door would be open.

As he stepped over the threshold into his bedroom he heard MJ's window creak open, sending his heart hammering into his throat. Sam, who had been sleeping soundly when Dean entered the room, sat bolt upright at the sound, already reaching for his gun on the nightstand. Dean didn't pause to give Sam direction, knew Sam would be right behind him as he crept through the bathroom and listened at the open doorway into MJ's room. He heard careful footsteps crossing the room toward MJ's bed. Dean squinted, just making out the shape of a man leaning over his sister's still form.

Dean took a step into the room, gun raised.

"Don't you _fucking_ move!" He growled, cocking the pistol.

The figure froze as the bedroom door burst open, Bobby stepping in and quickly throwing the light switch as he aimed his shotgun at the man's head. Sam was beside Dean at once, gun trained on their target, breathing fast.

MJ's eyes flew open and she gasped at the sight of the man whose face was mere inches from her own. The man had frozen, slightly bent over MJ, hands out in front of him, not daring to move. He looked up slowly, locking eyes with Dean. MJ appeared to be frozen in shock on the bed below him.

Dean took a step closer. "Back away from her before we turn your head into Swiss cheese!" He threatened.

The man straightened up slowly, his hands raised, taking a step backward.

"Sammy." Dean said, eyes still trained on the intruder.

Sam shoved his gun into his waistband at the small of his back as he moved forward taking hold of MJ's upper arm. When she finally tore her eyes away from the intruder and looked up at Sam he guided her off the bed and situated her next to him and slightly behind Dean.

"Please." The man said, speaking for the first time, his voice trembling. "I'm not armed." He swallowed looking between Dean and Bobby. "Please." He pleaded.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded taking another step toward him.

He stumbled back another step, frightened eyes locked on Dean. He never looked away from Dean as he said, "MJ, little help here?"

Three sets of confused eyes landed on her, making her look down suddenly very interested in Dean's old AC/DC t-shirt she was wearing. She could feel her face growing crimson.

No one spoke for a few beats, all eyes on MJ.

"MJ?" Sam questioned quietly, nudging her arm.

She slowly looked up, not making eye contact with any of them. "Guys, you remember Patrick." She said quietly, locking eyes with the intruder. MJ turned toward Dean, saw his brow furrow as he studied Patrick's face. Then comprehension dawned and his expression cleared turning murderous.

"Patrick." Dean sad quietly, to himself, not lowering his gun. "Whatcha doing here Patrick?" Dean asked, before clenching his teeth so tightly MJ could see his jaw muscle jump.

MJ took a deep breath, eyes on her eldest brother. "Can you lower your gun, Dean?" She asked quietly.

"I asked you a question!" Dean yelled, ignoring his sister completely.

Patrick's face was growing redder by the second and the sweat was beading on his forehead.

"What are you doing here?!" Dean repeated a little more forcefully.

"I don't-" he tried, looking around frantically before his gaze returned to Dean, clearly at a loss. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way." He said, shaking his head.

"What wasn't supposed to happen this way?" Dean demanded.

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Well for starters, you're not supposed to be here." He said, waving his hand in Dean's direction.

This comment was met with silence. One by one, four sets of eyes landed on MJ. She could feel them boring into her and she didn't dare look up, her eyes focused on her bare toes. MJ knew they had all caught on now. They knew that she had planned on Patrick coming here. Not that she was going to deny it or anything, but all the same, it was an intense, horrible moment. The jig was up.

When she couldn't stand the quiet any longer, she raised her head, just a little, just enough to look to her right and see Dean's enraged face. She tried to convey to Dean how sorry she was, that she knew this was really dumb and that he really, _really_ didn't need to kill Patrick to get that point across to her. She held his gaze, begging him with her eyes not to totally flip out. She didn't look to Sam or Bobby, partly because she was too embarrassed. But mostly because she instinctively knew that Dean was running this show.

Patrick took another step back, away from the barrel of Dean's gun. The movement drew Dean's attention away from MJ, and he looked back at the intruder as if he had forgotten the man was there. Patrick stared apprehensively back at Dean.

When Dean finally spoke again, it was with forced calm. Not lowering his gun, he turned toward Bobby. "Bobby, would you mind taking MJ downstairs?"

Before Bobby could make any response MJ took a step forward, away from Sam and Dean and toward Patrick. "No!" She screamed her hands balled into fists at her sides. She turned back to face her brother, standing in front of Patrick, so that Dean's gun was now aimed at her head.

Dean quickly lowered his weapon, looking angrily at MJ. "Jesus, Mary Jane-"

"I'm not going anywhere Dean. I'm not gonna leave this room so you can do God knows what to Patrick like he's the bad guy and I'm some kind of…victim!"

"That's exactly what you're gonna do!" Dean shouted, taking a step toward her.

"Dean, I invited him here, okay? I am _not_ innocent in this! You don't get to take this out on him while I wait with Bobby like some little kid!"

" BUT THAT'S _WHAT YOU ARE_!" Dean roared, leaning over her, his face inches from hers. "You are a _child_, Mary Jane! A fifteen year old kid!" He jabbed a finger over her shoulder, pointing at Patrick. "He is a _man_! An adult who has no business even talking to you, let alone showing up in your bedroom in the middle of the night! That makes him a bad guy, Mary Jane! So, yeah, you're gonna leave this room while I have a little chat with Patrick and I don't _care_ if you like it or not!" He held her gaze, not backing away.

MJ just looked up at him, shocked into silence. Dean was wrong. He was way outta line and she was waiting for either Sam or Bobby to call him on it, to take her side. When it became clear that neither of them was going to refute Dean's tyrannical speech, MJ bit her tongue and moved slowly toward Bobby, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes still on Dean, glaring for all she was worth.

Bobby motioned for her to go ahead. He turned toward Dean before following her out the door.

"Dean."

Dean shifted his gaze from MJ's retreating back to Bobby. He took a deep breath. "It's under control, Bobby. Really." He said as calmly as he could manage.

Bobby threw a quick glance at Sammy. The stern look he gave him clearly saying, 'don't let your brother do anything stupid,' before he followed MJ from the room.

Dean turned his attention back to Patrick, who had a wistful look on his face as if his last hope at surviving this had just walked out the door.

"So. Patrick." Dean walked slowly toward the clearly anxious man, his gun still in his right hand, held close to his thigh. "Didn't think we'd be seeing you again." Dean shook his head, now circling Patrick. "Knew I shoulda jacked your ass back in Lincoln."

Patrick was tracking Dean's movements, his eyes wide with fear.

"How old are you, Patrick?" Sam asked from across the room. Patrick looked up at him as if he was only now realizing he was still in the room.

"Twenty one." He squeaked, voice barely audible.

Dean nodded, pacing the length of the room just a few feet from where Patrick stood. "Twenty one." He repeated. "Yeah." His mouth was set in a thin line as he turned to face Patrick. "Do you remember how old my sister is, Patrick?" Dean asked.

Patrick said nothing, eyes glued to Dean's right hand, still gripping the gun at his side.

After a few moments of silence, Dean stopped pacing, facing Patrick, fire in his eyes. "That wasn't a rhetorical question. Fucking answer it!" He demanded.

Patrick started, fumbling backward a step as he mumbled, "A-almost sixteen."

Dean closed the distance between them in one giant stride, gun raised and pointed directly at Patrick's forehead as he closed in on him. Patrick squeezed his eyes shut, backing up against the wall behind him. He looked like he was trying to melt into it as he turned his head to the side, trying in vain to put some distance between Dean's gun and his brains.

"FIFTEEN!" Dean shouted, correcting Patrick's answer.

Sam took a step forward, watching his brother carefully. Dean was breathing hard, a maniacal glint in his eyes. Dean was good at appearing to be in control, but Sam knew him well and right now he was on the brink of blacking out from the rage. All the signs were there: the dilated pupils, heavy breathing, the vein throbbing in his forehead. Dean was losing it. Fast. Sam was really wishing he'd put the gun away and just throttle the guy. He could definitely get behind that.

"Dean, why don't you lose the pistol, huh?" Sam suggested calmly.

Dean ignored him.

"Here's how this is gonna work, Patrick." Dean spat his name like it was a dirty word. "You're gonna answer my questions and I'll decide how badly I'm gonna hurt you based on those answers." Dean raised his arm, pressing the barrel of the gun right to Patrick's forehead.

"Oh, God." Patrick whimpered, eyes still glued shut.

"And if you lie to me," Dean began, cocking the pistol, "so help me God I will put a bullet through your fucking skull." There was no doubting Dean's sincerity.

Patrick made a choked sobbing sound and Sam saw tears begin to fall down his cheeks.

"Dean." Sam protested weakly, moving around the bed to stand behind his brother.

"Question number one," Dean proceeded as if Sam had said nothing. "Why did you come here tonight?"

Sam looked to Patrick, all at once worried about where this was going and curious as to the answer. He made no attempt to intervene.

Patrick took a shaky breath. "MJ told me you were away on business and I thought maybe I could sneak in to see her without getting caught." His voice was quiet and his words stilted.

"Why did you want to see her?" Dean fired off, seemingly having no reaction at all to Patrick's response.

"We've been talking. Texting a lot. We like each other and I really wanted to see her."

"Have you laid a hand on her?" Dean asked quietly, his voice menacing.

Patrick shook his head. "I swear, this is the first time I've seen her since that first night. Honest." He hastily tried to explain.

"You come here to sleep with her?" Dean asked, his tone deadly.

Patrick opened his eyes, just slightly, to look at Dean. He shrugged. "That would've been up to her."

Sam ran a hand over his face in frustration. This guy just kept digging himself deeper.

Dean grabbed a fist full of Patrick's jacket, pulling him a few inches away from the wall only to slam him back against it again in outrage.

Patrick hastened to explain himself. "It's not what you think. I really like her. I'm not just trying to get in her pants. I'm not looking to hurt her."

"_She's a child_!" Dean hissed.

Patrick made no response. His eyes on Dean, pleading for mercy.

"Gimme your phone." Dean demanded, left hand digging into Patrick's coat pockets while his right hand kept the pistol trained on Patrick's head. He retrieved the cell phone handing it back to Sam without turning around.

"What's he gonna find on there?" Dean asked, searching Patrick's face for answers. "Hmm?"

Patrick swallowed, looking between Sam and Dean. Sam was just holding the phone in front of him, eyes on Patrick, silently begging him not to have been that stupid.

After a few moments' silence, Dean waggled the gun, letting Patrick know he'd better answer and fast.

Patrick closed his eyes again, speaking so quietly Dean almost didn't make out the words. Almost.

"There's a couple pictures…" He said.

Dean froze. Taking a moment to digest what Patrick had just said. Sam's eyes went wide and he looked down at the phone disgusted before looking back up to see Patrick cringing as he anticipated Dean's reaction.

Dean opened his mouth, closed it, sputtered a couple times. He ran a hand over his mouth, inhaling deeply as he leaned in toward Patrick, gun still pressed to the other man's face.

"What pictures?" He finally managed.

Patrick looked pleadingly back at Dean, hands raised in surrender. "J-just some pictures MJ sent me. Just for fun. It was harmless. Really." He sputtered, tripping over his words.

Sam saw the last shred of control leave his brother and he stepped forward, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder as he came around to face him.

"Dean," was all he said. After a moment Dean reluctantly looked away from Patrick and at Sam. Sam gave him a look that said he got it, he hated the guy, too, but that they both knew how this needed to play out. Dean was not convinced at first, but Sam's gaze was unyielding and Dean knew he was right. Dean slowly lowered his gun, nodding his head, his eyes on the floor. He placed the pistol in Sam's waiting hand As Sam uncocked it and set the safety, Dean bent down, pulling the Beretta from his ankle holster and the hunting knife from its sheath at his thigh. After Sam had tucked the pistol safely away he took the other two weapons from Dean.

Patrick sighed, muttering a weak "thank you" as Dean shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it onto MJ's bed.

Ignoring Patrick, Sam handed Dean the cell phone. "We'll be in the kitchen." Sam said as he left, letting Dean know he should bring Patrick out the front.

Patrick watched Sam leave the room then looked back at Dean, the relief ebbing away, a sense of foreboding overtaking him as Dean just stared at him, malice in his eyes.

Dean waited until he heard the kitchen door swing shut before throwing the phone down on the hardwood floor and smashing it with his boot. He then roughly grabbed Patrick by his upper arm and yanked him down the stairs and out the front door.

Once they were a good distance from the house, Dean relinquished his hold on Patrick and stepped back, squaring off with him. Patrick took in Dean's stance, his fists clenched at his sides, the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Patrick took a deep breath, crossing his arms over his chest. "Dude, I'm not gonna fight you." He said, trying to infuse his voice with confidence and failing miserably. "You don't want me around your sister, I get it. You want me gone? Fine, I'm gone." Patrick turned away and Dean was on him in a flash, pulling him back around and punching him in the jaw with such force, he fell back, landing in the hard packed dirt.

Patrick's hand went to his face as he looked up at Dean, slightly shocked.

"Get up." Dean ordered as he circled Patrick.

* * *

Dean pushed through the kitchen door to find Sam sitting at the kitchen table across from MJ who still looked pissed as hell. Bobby was standing, leaning against the counter, eyes on the siblings, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked strangely at ease, considering the tension in the room radiating off of Sam and MJ.

When Dean walked in Sam looked up at him while MJ just stared resolutely at the table in front of her. Dean met Sam's eye, nodding slightly, letting him know it was done and Patrick had left with a broken nose and his tail between his legs. Sam's shoulders seemed to relax a little and Dean realized that Sam hadn't expected him to be able to exercise any control.

Dean approached the table, standing over MJ, looking down at her, arms at his sides. He waited, expression disapproving, until she looked his way.

Try as she might to continue to ignore him, MJ's eyes darted to the left, and she caught sight of his scraped and bloodied knuckles. Her eyes grew wide and she looked up at him.

Dean saw fear in her eyes as she tried to read his expression, figure out just what he'd done with Patrick without having to ask him. She searched his face for answers, and he knew exactly what she wanted to know, but he refused to give her that satisfaction. He watched as her face grew pink with anger. She hastily shoved her chair back and stood and Dean thought he saw tears swimming in her eyes as she brushed past him.

"Phone." Dean said evenly, turning toward her.

She stopped, hand on the swinging door. Sam watched, looking between Dean and his sister, wondering who would explode first, ready to intervene if it came to it.

MJ spun around, hands fisted at her sides.

"You _must_ be joking." She growled, eyes shooting daggers at Dean.

Dean's only response to was hold his hand out toward her, palm up.

She glanced at Sam and Bobby. Both wore carefully neutral expressions and she knew they'd never disagree with Dean's demand.

She took two steps back toward her brother, reaching into her back pocket and slapped the phone into his outstretched hand.

"You know, I'm allowed to have friends, Dean. That's all it was. You didn't have to act like a total psycho." She accused. Dean could hear the hurt in her voice, under all the anger and resentment, and he felt a little bad about that. But not bad enough to back down. Because the ease with which she was lying to his face riled him right back up.

"Yeah, you're allowed friends. Friends who are your age. Friends who don't sneak into your bed in the middle of the night." Dean took a step forward, his voice raising. "And most importantly friends who aren't twenty-one-year old perverts who have naked pictures of you on their phones!"

The blush in her cheeks grew deeper and spread until her entire face and chest were a deep crimson. She said nothing, her lips slightly parted in surprise and her eyes falling closed in what Dean recognized as embarrassment. She stood there as if rooted to the spot, her eyes cast downward.

Dean nodded, sensing victory. "Yeah, that's right. The _psycho _knows what you were up to!" He gloated, angrily pointing a finger at her. "So you can forget trying to sell us some crap about this being totally innocent." He waved his hand in Sam and Bobby's direction. "We're not buyin'!" He pointed over her head toward the hallway. "Now go upstairs and pack your shit! We leave tomorrow after your appointment with Dr. Whitmore."

He saw a tear splash down MJ's face when she finally looked up at him. She swallowed, crossing her arms over her chest and turned, quickly leaving the room. Dean heard her flying up the stairs and slamming her bedroom door closed.

Dean didn't turn around, could feel Sam and Bobby's stares boring into his back. He was already feeling guilty for yelling, making her cry. He didn't need to hear it from either of them. He was tired, he was pissed and he had more important things to discuss with Sammy. As far as he was concerned, Patrick was a bad memory, MJ could hate him if she wanted to and everyone else just needed to get over it.

"Dean-"

"Bobby, don't." Dean cut in, finally turning to face Bobby and his brother. "You know how much I appreciate you helping us out, letting us stay here-"

"And that's exactly why you're gonna listen, boy!" Bobby roared, the carefully calm façade finally breaking. Bobby straightened up, pointing a finger at Dean. "You're pissed all to hell, I get that. And I know you're only tryin' to keep her safe, but losin' your cool like that, just pushes her away." Bobby's eyes bored into Dean's as his expression softened. "She lost him, too, Dean. And this is just her tryin' to deal with it."

Sam stayed seated, looking between Bobby and Dean. He didn't say anything.

Dean just looked back at Bobby, his expression unreadable. He gave a non-committal nod, turning to Sam. "I'm gonna hit the hay." He said tiredly before leaving the room.

* * *

MJ had woken early the following morning, despite being woken late to her brothers and Bobby trying to kill Patrick. She was up before Dean or Sam and didn't bother to wake either of them, leaving alone for her run. She returned before 7, to find them all awake, having breakfast in the kitchen. Well, Sam and Bobby were having breakfast. Dean was brooding over his coffee cup, clearly agitated. He abruptly stood when she walked in the room, a mixture of relief and anger on his face when he looked at her.

"What, so you just leave now without letting anyone know where you're going?" He demanded angrily.

"Gee, Dean," She responded calmly, walking through the kitchen and grabbing a banana. "Maybe if you hadn't taken my phone you could've called to check in on me." She didn't so much as look in Dean's direction as she headed upstairs to shower.

MJ dressed and headed straight to the Impala, sitting in the back and waiting until her brothers joined her. She did get out to say goodbye to Bobby, couldn't even consider being rude to him. She hugged him somewhat awkwardly; sure he was disappointed and ashamed of her. But he'd gripped her tightly and kissed the top of her head, just like he always did. This made her feel marginally better as she climbed back into the car without so much as a glance in her brothers' direction. She figured that Sam deserved the silent treatment as much as Dean since he hadn't stood up for her at all.

* * *

Sam and Dean sat in front of Dr. Whitmore's desk an hour later, anxiously awaiting the end of this session. Dean was itching to get back on the road, to focus on something, anything besides this crap with MJ. That snide remark this morning in the kitchen were the only words she'd spoken to him since last night and the looks she sent his way…where did girls learn to glare like that? Sam hadn't said much either, but then Dean hadn't really given him the chance. He shifted in the leather chair, scowling slightly. They all needed a good hunt. Something familiar and tangible to focus their energy on.

"So, Sam. Dean." Dr. Whitmore began, just as he always did when meeting with them after MJ's sessions, with a demeanor of calm and detached friendliness. If he was ever shocked by anything they told him he never showed it. "MJ tells me this was our last session. Is that right?"

Dean nodded back at the doctor. "Yeah, uh, we gotta hit the road." He smiled in what he hoped was a polite way. "Duty calls."

Sam just nodded his agreement.

"Well," the doctor said, "I'm sorry to hear that. I'd hate to lose MJ as a patient, especially after all the progress she's made. But I certainly understand that you need to work." He scribbled something down before looking back up at them. "Tell me, Dean," he began, folding his hands in his lap, "what did you and MJ argue about last night? She would only say that she wasn't speaking to you and that I should ask you why." The doctor's eyes remained kind and Sam thought he saw a little amusement there on his face when he asked the question.

Dean massaged his forehead with his hand, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair. "She was seeing a twenty-one-year-old behind our backs. I put a stop to it." He sighed in frustration. "She _knows _it's not okay." He defended.

The doctor considered Dean for a moment before actually chuckling lightly. "I see." He shook his head.

Dean eyed the doctor incredulously. "What, you think that's funny? A grown man perving on a fifteen-year-old girl?" He challenged.

"Dean, relax." Sam admonished quietly.

Dean's head snapped to the side, glaring at his brother. "Oh, you got something to say now, Sammy? I mean, you were pretty quiet last night. More than happy to stand by and let me be the bad guy in this!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Come on, Dean. What did you want me to do? You had it under control. There wasn't much for me to say. And in case you haven't noticed, she's not speaking to me either. We're in the same boat here!"

"If I may," Dr. Whitmore began, holding up his hand toward them, causing them both to fall silent. "I certainly didn't mean to imply I find what you told me amusing in any way. On the contrary, an adult man taking advantage of MJ is quite disturbing. I'm glad to hear you responded appropriately to it." He smiled again. "I was laughing because you and your sister are so alike it's a bit startling, Dean." He shook his head. "I must say, sometimes I nearly forget how young MJ is when we're talking. She's very mature in a lot of ways," He held up a finger for emphasis, "but very naïve in others. So it's not surprising to hear that this man was able to convince her he cared for her."

Sam and Dean shared a look as the doctor continued.

"Since I won't be meeting with you again, there's something else I need to inform you of. As you know I normally can't discuss with you specifics of what MJ and I talk about, but MJ gave me permission to talk with you about this." He paused, Dean and Sam both waiting anxiously for him to continue. "MJ informed me that she has absolutely no memory of her time with the man who abducted her. We've discussed it several times and she is adamant that she does not remember anything at all."

"Wait." Dean was shaking his head, as if confused. "Is that even possible?"

Dr. Whitmore nodded. "Not only possible, but not entirely uncommon. It's called selective amnesia. Sometimes when a person suffers a significant trauma, their brain blocks out the memory of that trauma as a way to protect itself. Like a defense mechanism. It would be too painful to remember so MJ's mind has chosen not to. In MJ's case locking away those memories was probably necessary to keep her sane in the moment."

Sam and Dean were silent as they considered what the doctor was telling them.

Dr. Whitmore shifted in his chair as he continued. "MJ's had a lot of trauma in her life, a good amount of it happening in the past few months. The death of your father, her mother abandoning her, the neglect and abuse that occurred throughout her childhood. She's dealing with all of that and I must say making tremendous progress."

Dean looked back at the doctor, sensing from his tone where this was going. There was definitely a 'but' coming.

"That said I'm concerned that MJ's progress will be short lived. I fear a relapse in…familiar habits and behaviors if she doesn't begin to deal with _everything_ that has happened to her."

"So you're sayin' we gotta help her remember what happened with- her abductor?" Dean barely caught himself before saying the word 'demon'.

The doctor shook his head. "She'll remember when her brain thinks she's truly ready to deal with whatever she went through there. There's no point trying to rush that. But you can help her to realize that she's safe. That no matter what happened to her in the past she's not in danger now."

Dean shook his head, looking down at the floor, frustrated. "How?" He asked, looking back up. "We've been hearing that from day one. 'Make her feel safe.' _How_?" He pleaded.

Dr. Whitmore was unfazed. "Honestly, Dean? I think you're already doing it."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, fat lot of good it's doing." He mumbled sarcastically.

"I'm afraid I have to disagree with you, Dean." Dr. Whitmore said. "All of the progress MJ's made in therapy? None of that would have been possible without you and Sam supporting her."

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "I just…want her to be better."

"Patience is a virtue, Dean." Dr. Whitmore said with a small smile as he stood. Dean and Sam followed suit.

"Before you leave," Dr. Whitmore began, following them to the door. "I feel I should warn you." He paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Don't be surprised if there's more to MJ's past than what she's letting on. I'm afraid I've only scratched the surface these past few months. But she's a tough kid. One of the most resilient children I've ever worked with. She'll get through it." He pulled the door open with a small smile. "With your help."

Sam and Dean left, both relieved to be done with that, but filled with a new sense of dread. What the hell had that bastard demon done to her that was so terrible she had blocked it out?

"What the hell do you think that's about?" Sam asked, echoing Dean's thoughts.

Dean shook his head as they made their way across the waiting room. MJ stood when she saw them and quickly walked out the door, not waiting for them, her expression still pissed.

Dean sighed. "I don't know, Sammy. Just…add it to the never ending list of crap."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Howdy! On to a new case! I'm very excited about this one...it's gonna be a good time:) Thanks so much for reading. You're all truly awesome people! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 5**

Dean glanced back at MJ for what felt to her like the millionth time since they'd left Sioux Falls. MJ had popped her ear buds in and blasted her music as soon as they were on the road and was carefully avoiding meeting Dean's eye. For nearly four hours she watched out of her peripheral vision his repeated attempts to catch her eye. She reluctantly put her iPod away when the battery died just after crossing into Minnesota and stared resolutely out the window.

Needless to say she was still pissed at Dean. A little because he insisted on treating her like a child. A tiny bit because he no doubt beat the crap out of Patrick. A tad because he didn't respect her privacy whatsoever. And a whole _hell _of a lot because he absolutely humiliated her in front of Sam and Bobby. She didn't know how he even knew about the photos, but he didn't have to broadcast their existence to everyone. She had a sick feeling in her stomach when she considered the possibility that Dean had actually _seen_ any of the pictures. They weren't meant for anyone's eyes except Patrick's.

She grew even more agitated when she thought about what Dean had no doubt done to Patrick. MJ could only guess at the extent of his injuries. She couldn't even check in with him to see if he was okay and find out exactly what happened after she left the room. She'd found the pieces of his destroyed phone scattered all over her bedroom floor. Even if he replaced his phone, she wasn't getting hers back from Dean any time soon.

"Ham Lake, Minnesota. Home of the Hocks." Dean announced, interrupting her fuming thoughts as they passed the city limits sign entering Ham Lake. Dean grinned over his shoulder at MJ. "Clever."

MJ rolled her eyes, looking out the window at the small town scenery. She could tell he was trying really hard to get her to respond to him in some way besides a death glare, but she had no intentions of giving in. On some level she knew she was being childish and bratty, but she was too mad to care.

"What's the deal on this one again?" Dean asked, giving up on her and turning his attention to Sam as they cruised slowly down the main drag looking for a motel.

"The Ham Lake Hocks are a semi-pro hockey team. Sorta like a starter league for young guys hoping to go pro." He recited. "Two days ago the Hocks took on the Rampage."

"Raleigh?" Dean guessed.

"Rockford." Sam corrected. "So, anyway, Walton Crantz, one of the Rampage brutally attacked Trenton Hill during the game and he didn't stop until Hill was dead. Cause of death blunt force trauma to the head. Crantz says he had no memory of the attack, like it wasn't even him on the ice at the time." Sam flipped through some papers as he continued. "Second one like it in the league. A week ago a River Rat stuck it to an Ice Cat during a game."

Dean smirked. "You're not even trying to be dirty are you?" He teased.

Sam gave Dean a disapproving look, but otherwise ignored the comment. "Slit his throat with his skate blade. No memory of the attack."

Dean cleared his throat. "So, demonic possession, maybe?"

Sam placed his research back in the folder. "Could be."

"Okay, so victim or killer first?" Dean asked.

"Check out the body I guess." Sam answered with a non-committal shrug.

Dean glanced over his shoulder at MJ. She was staring out the window a scowl on her face that Dean was pretty sure was becoming permanent.

"You care to weigh in on this?" Dean asked her, eyes back on the road.

"Nope." She answered shortly, refusing to look his way.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Dean mumbled, pulling into a rundown motel.

* * *

After quickly changing into their FBI suits at the motel they drove to the morgue and spoke to the medical examiner, getting a copy of the autopsy report. None of this proved very helpful. There didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary about the body either, that is unless you considered being pummeled until it no longer looked human out of the ordinary.

They piled back into the Impala and drove toward the correctional facility where Crantz was being held. MJ had hung back at the morgue, staying quiet, not really getting involved. But she had been listening, taking it all in. She figured there was no point sulking forever. She could be pissed at Dean and still do something useful. And since Dean had informed her she'd be sticking to them like glue everywhere they went and had made her dress in the evil skirt suit, she might as well play the part.

As they drove along MJ leaned toward the front seat, reaching over the seat back to grab at one of the folders sitting on the bench seat between her brothers. She pulled out the autopsy report, settling back against the seat thumbing to the end where the police report was attached. She began carefully reading through it, hoping to gather some background before they met with Crantz.

Disappointed in what she'd read MJ replaced the report in its folder and set it back in the front seat as they pulled up to the county jail. They flashed their badges and walked around the line of visitors at the metal detectors and were ushered into a waiting area where they reluctantly had to relinquish all of their weapons. Once they were all weapon free, much to Dean's displeasure, they were ushered into another waiting area, the heavy metal door clanging shut ominously behind them. After a few minutes of waiting a hardened looking correction's officer came through another metal door, holding it open behind him as he eyed them, not bothering to hide his annoyance. His gaze stopped on MJ, looking her up and down. She looked back at him, not caring for the way he was smirking at her like she was a bad joke. She felt Dean and Sam tense on either side of her as his gaze continued to linger on her.

"_You're_ a Fed?" He asked incredulously.

MJ took a step forward her eyes hardening as she stared back at him. "I'm a trainee." She defended as she felt rather than saw Dean and Sam move forward with her. "You got a problem with women agents?" MJ challenged, trying to react as a true FBI agent would if their credentials were questioned.

He snorted. "It ain't what you got between your legs that's the problem, sweetheart. You're practically jailbait. How old are you anyway?"

Dean moved forward a step, his face an ugly shade of puce. "Hey! You think it's wise to talk to a federal agent like that?" Dean asked. The man tore his gaze from MJ to glare at Dean. "She's legit. Now if you wanna keep your job I suggest you quit gawking like an idiot and bring us Walton Crantz." Dean spat.

The guard eyed Dean, looking like he wanted to argue some more, but eventually thought better of it and turned back toward the door he'd come through. "This ain't a fancy federal prison. We don't bring inmates up. You gotta go down to them." He said in a clipped tone. "Crantz is in the Special Handling Unit. Where we keep the head cases. I'll take you to him." He stood to the side, holding the door open, waiting for them to go ahead.

Dean stepped forward, still eyeing the guard, his eyes hostile. MJ followed Dean through the doorway, riled up even more than she was before. If she were a real Fed she'd totally get this jackass fired.

"Uh, Agent Cooper?" Sam asked, looking to Dean uncertainly. "Maybe Agent Monroe should wait here." He said.

Dean looked back at Sam, taking in his anxious face. "What's up?" He asked, falling back so they were out of the guard's ear shot.

Sam leaned down, his voice low. "You're gonna take MJ _into_ the jail? Are you serious?"

"What, they're locked up, Sammy. She'll be fine." Dean said dismissively.

"Dean she's wearing a _skirt_ for God's sake!" Sam hissed.

"Sam, she has to go with us, okay? I'm not letting her out of my sight, so we have no other option." Dean said, his tone final.

Sam still seemed unsure, but followed his siblings through the doorway, casting a warning glance at the guard when he passed him.

The guard took them down in an elevator and along a narrow hallway before pausing outside another heavy metal door. He radioed in, asking for admittance. Dean didn't miss the snarky way he said "couple of feds and their trainee." This guy needed to get over himself and fast before Dean gave him a much needed attitude adjustment.

There was a loud clicking and the door opened toward them just a crack. The guard pulled it open wide and stepped to the side.

"He's the one in the corner staring at the table. Ignore everybody else. If he gets rowdy and you guys can't handle him," he eyed Sam and Dean seemingly convinced that they could not hold their own against one unarmed, crazy, psycho killer, "call for the guard at the desk." When no one moved he gestured impatiently with his hand. "You want to see him, right?" He asked, annoyed.

Sam glanced into the room. There were cells lining the back of the large open space, but most were empty, their occupants walking freely through the unit. There was a guard at a desk in the far corner, watching a group of monitors in front of him, paying very little attention to the handful of inmates who were shuffling about or sitting around, talking to themselves. Sam looked back to the guard.

"They're not locked up?" He asked in disbelief.

"Look, buddy, I ain't got all day. They're all pumped full of sedatives. So out of it, Little Miss Trainee could probably take them." He pointed at MJ.

Sam looked at Dean, who looked a little unsure, but nodded his approval all the same before walking hesitantly through the doorway. Sam gestured for MJ to go ahead of him. When she passed the guard he looked down at her, an evil looking smile on his face. "You should probably avoid eye contact with any of these psychos. They're likely to mistake you for their girlfriends and try to take you to their cells for a conjugal." He seemed hopeful at the prospect. Sam just glared at him as he followed closely behind MJ, the guard slamming the door behind them with such force that half the inmates and the guard at the desk looked up at them.

Dean stopped a few feet into the unit, scanning the room before looking over toward Crantz. He looked over his shoulder at MJ and said quietly, "Stay between Sam and I while we're in here." It was a direct order and MJ had no intention of disobeying. This place creeped her out and it hadn't escaped her notice that even the most doped up looking men in here were staring directly at her. She followed behind Dean as closely as she could without stepping on the backs of his shoes. She could feel Sam behind her, practically touching her back and for once she was glad her brothers were overprotective freaks.

Dean stopped when he reached the table Crantz was seated at and looked down at him. MJ moved to stand beside Dean, Sam moving to her right side. MJ knew from the file that Crantz was nineteen, but he looked no older than her. Maybe it was the way the pale brown scrubs hung loosely from him, two sizes too big, or the way he nervously chewed his nails, his face betraying his state of near panic, but he looked young and vulnerable sitting there alone and far from a cold blooded killer.

"Walton Crantz." Dean said, not really a question. Only then did Crantz look up at him, clearly uninterested even when they flashed their badges. He said nothing.

"Mind if we sit down?" Dean asked even as he pulled out the chair closest to the man.

Crantz still said nothing, going back to chewing on his thumb nail.

MJ and Sam sat down as well, MJ trying to keep her focus on the man in front of them rather than the other inmates milling around their table. That guard might have been a jackass, but she had a feeling that his warning had some merit.

"We need to ask you some questions about Trenton Hill." Dean began.

Crantz looked over at him and MJ could tell he was trying to hide his anxiety as he gave him a pissed off look. "My family's attorney is on his way here from Connecticut. I don't think I should say anything until he gets here."

MJ rolled her eyes. So he came from money.

Dean leaned in closer to him. "Look." He began, lowering his voice. "We're here to help you, pal." Crantz looked at them skeptically as Dean continued. "You told the police right after that you didn't remember anything about what happened."

"No." He nearly shouted. "I said I didn't do it. There's a difference."

"Well, then how do you explain that nearly 3,000 people including your coach and teammates watched you do it?" Sam asked.

Crantz turned his hazel eyes on Sam. He looked at him for a long moment before finally answering. "I can't explain it."

"Try." Dean demanded.

Crantz leaned toward them and MJ could see he was desperate for someone to listen to him, to make sense of what had happened. "It was like…like I could feel all this anger and hate and I definitely wanted to kill Trenton, but-" He stopped, shaking his head, like he couldn't find the right words.

"But what?" MJ prompted, on the edge of her seat now.

He swallowed, looking between the three of them, "But it wasn't _my_ anger. It was…inside me, but_ it wasn't me_." He looked back down at the table, a faraway look in his eyes. "It was like I didn't have control of my body. I knew what I was going to do, and it was like I wanted to do it, but I didn't really and then I was skating toward him and I couldn't stop it…I don't remember anything else." He took hold of his head in his hands. "I'm fucking crazy."

"Walton," Sam asked urgently, "Did you see any…black smoke that day or the days before? Smell anything unusual, like sulfur?"

_Oh, Sam, always so subtle, _MJ thought.

Crantz looked up at Sam like he might belong in this unit with the other whack jobs. "What the hell are you talking about? No."

Sam just looked quickly toward Dean. So it wasn't a demon, then.

Crantz shook his head again, a determined look on his face, like he was going to make sense of this if it killed him. "Everything was totally normal until I came out for that shift. As soon as I left the bench I felt…weird, like I was really cold. Like _I could see my breath_ cold. Then I bent forward to take the face off and bam! Nothing but rage."

MJ was staring at Crantz, a look of sympathy on her face. It must truly suck to think you're losing your mind. After a moment Crantz caught her eye and MJ quickly turned away. Unfortunately when she looked away from him she locked eyes with another inmate, a huge, hulking man with a long, angry looking scar across his left cheek, who was standing against the back wall, staring intently at her, not moving a muscle. He had a strange, relaxed look about him that was truly at odds with his surroundings. MJ couldn't help but stare for a moment, caught off guard by his sheer size. He was easily four inches taller than Sam and definitely much wider. MJ quickly dropped her gaze, staring interestedly at the table. She tried to pay attention to the conversation going on at the table, but could still feel the giant man's eyes on her.

"Walton, do you know Kenneth Raymond or Mitchell Sands?" Sam asked him about the players involved in the other brutal attack.

Crantz leaned forward, kneading his palms into his forehead. He shook his head, his expression rather hopeless.

"Well," Dean began standing up, "Thanks for your time."

MJ followed suit, rising from her chair and falling in line close to Dean's side. Even though she was careful not to look in the direction of the gargantuan man with the scar, she could still feel his gaze following her every movement. It was really creeping her out and she just wanted out of there.

"Walton," Sam said sharply, drawing Crantz' attention. "You are not crazy. I promise."

Crantz just looked up at them forlornly as they made their way toward the door, MJ staring resolutely at Dean's back as she shuffled along between her brothers.

"Where you boys think you're goin' with my nightingale?" a voice drawled to her left, making her jump. She hadn't heard anyone approaching. She turned instinctively toward it. She was face to face – well, face to chest – with the scar man and had to crane her neck upward to see his face. He stood mere inches from her and no longer looked relaxed, but rather desperate and downright pissed. His brow was furrowed and his face turning red, making the ugly scar on his face stand out even more. "Don't ya know she's _mine_?" He all but hissed, reaching out to touch her face.

Dean and Sam were instantly standing in front of the man, Dean holding MJ behind him, his right arm hooked around her waist, holding her close to his back. MJ didn't even think about protesting, just grabbed hold of his suit jacket and held on for dear life.

"Sir, you need to back away." Sam warned, placing a hand to the man's chest. Dean never took his eyes off of Sam as he moved toward the door shoving MJ along in front of him. MJ watched, horrified, unable to make her feet move toward the door despite wanting nothing more than to be out of this place. Sam was actually dwarfed by this freak of nature and judging from the rage in the man's eyes, Sam was about to get squashed into the cement floor any second.

Dean must have seen it, too because he was reaching for his gun, forgetting that they had to leave all of their weapons upstairs.

"Fuck." Dean spat, looking around as if for an answer. His eyes stopped on the guard, who didn't seem to notice that anything was happening, chin resting in his hand, eyes on the monitors in front of him.

"Guard!" Dean shouted angrily before turning toward MJ and grabbing her forcefully by the upper arm. He yanked her to the door, hand on the crash bar. "Open it! Now!" He demanded, turning back toward the guard.

MJ heard the metallic click that indicated the door could be opened at the exact same moment that the man's giant fist collided with Sam's jaw, sending him sprawling backward onto the floor.

"Sammy!" MJ shrieked. Dean was shoving her out the doorway, but any thought of escaping fled from her mind when she saw the blood pouring from Sam's mouth as he lay on his side on the floor, completely dazed. MJ planted her feet in the doorway and fought with all her might against Dean, trying to get to Sam. She had no rational thought about what she would do when she got there, but as the oversized oaf beared down on him, a crazed look in his eye she feared the worst. "Get off me, Dean!" She ordered, her nails digging into his arms. MJ was so distraught she didn't even see the other inmate- one with long, scraggly black hair and an insane looking grin full of blackened teeth- moving swiftly toward her and Dean. Dean saw him, though.

Desperate to have his sister out of this room and away from these crazed men, Dean's hands went to MJ's shoulders and before she could register what was happening, he had kicked the door wide open behind her and was shoving her backward with all of his might. Shocked, MJ flew backward, through the open doorway and landed, spread eagle on her butt in the now deserted hallway. MJ heard the door click loudly again, sealing her brothers inside the unit. The silence that followed was eerie.

"No!" She screamed, scrambling to her feet, ignoring the throbbing pain in her backside and her now ripped skirt and throwing herself at the door. She pounded on it with both hands uselessly. For once she was grateful for the stupid heels as they boosted her up high enough to look through the tiny window in the door. She reached it in time to see Dean forcing an inmate to the floor face first, his arms pinned behind his back. She could see that Sam was still on the floor and the giant was bent over him, the one guard in the room, trying and failing to pull him away. "Sammy!" MJ pleaded, feeling tears stinging her eyes.

"Move!" Someone shouted in her ear and MJ was once again being tossed backward, this time by the guard who had escorted them down. She stumbled backward, this time staying on her feet, but slamming hard into the wall opposite the door, her skull making a thunking noise as it collided with the cinder blocks. She watched, sort of dazed as the guard manually unlocked the door with a key- clearly something they only did in true emergencies- and ran inside closely followed by two more guards who flew past MJ, not even registering her existence.

When the door opened MJ heard what could only be described as total mayhem for all of five seconds before the last guard in quickly slammed it closed again behind him. Then everything was dead silent. MJ couldn't move. In fact, she couldn't stand anymore. She slid down the wall, one hand rubbing the back of her head while the other pulled her legs close to her chest. She sat there, silent tears beginning to fall down her face as she feared the worst. Something about the look in that guy's eyes made him seem much more dangerous than even the deadly monsters they faced on a daily basis. And Sam had been bleeding so much…MJ just stared at the door, waiting for her brothers to emerge and praying that when they did they were still in one piece.

As the pain in her head eased and everything around her was coming back into focus, the panic built to a level of desperation and MJ got unsteadily to her feet again and threw herself against the metal door that separated her from her brothers. She peered desperately through the little window and whimpered at what she saw. The man had his hands around Sam's throat, squeezing the life out of him. The four guards were beating the man with their clubs which seemed to be having no effect. Dean was screaming something toward the guards as he kneeled on the other inmate who was fighting like crazy to free himself.

MJ felt a fire blaze in the pit of her stomach as she watched her brother being killed. The fire spread, rushing through her arms and spreading to the tips of her fingers. Along with the heat, the fire seemed to be sending pure, liquid rage coursing through her body and as one of the guards finally drew his gun, MJ placed her hand flat against the window. She could feel the fire reach her eyes and as she narrowed them in hatred at the man on top of her brother, she felt herself pushing the fire forward, away from herself. Instantly the giant man stopped, as if shocked. His eyes went wide and his mouth slack and he fell sideways off of Sam, clutching at his chest.

She stayed at the window just long enough to watch Sam slowly sit up, his front spattered in his own blood, coughing violently as he looked over at his would be killer lying perfectly still on the floor beside him. Once she knew Sam was alive MJ rushed away from the window, trying to catch her breath. She had never hyperventilated before, but she was pretty sure that's what was happening. She felt dizzy and lightheaded as the fire inside her subsided, leaving her limbs feeling cool and tingly.

_What the hell did I just do_? She thought, a new kind of panic rising inside of her.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I know you waited far too long for this. I can't tell you how much I appreciate all of you continuing to read this story. You're all super amazing! A special thanks to Mayrem for giving me that little nudge I needed to get this posted:) Enjoy!**

**Chapter 6**

MJ slid back down the wall, her breathing shallow and erratic and her mind reeling. Her eyes were darting around the deserted hallway as if looking for something that could make sense of what had transpired. Had she just…killed a man…with her _mind_? She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the image of the man falling to his side, completely still, to go away. But it didn't. It played over and over behind her eyelids. She could barely form a coherent thought and so just sat there dazed, knees drawn up to her chest, head in her hands and tears streaming silently down her face.

That was how her brothers found her when the door to the unit finally opened again and they stumbled out, Dean awkwardly supporting Sam's weight as Sam held a towel to his bleeding mouth.

Dean looked down at her, concerned as Sam hobbled along beside him.

"Hey, you okay?" He asked, leaning Sam against the wall and squatting down in front of MJ to check her over. His eyes grew wide in alarm at the state of her. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. MJ." He took hold of her chin in his hand, looking her in the eye. "Breathe. Sam's fine. Everybody's fine. It's okay." He stood, pulling her to her feet. "Come on, let's get outta here."

Sam was standing upright and while he was wobbly was able to walk under his own power. Dean swept MJ along, just wanting out of this place as fast as possible. MJ allowed herself to be pulled along, back down the hallway and up to the first level, led by the same miserable corrections officer who brought them down. He was even more ornery now if that was possible. He was mumbling under his breath about feds being nothing but trouble and how much paperwork there would be as a result of the disturbance they'd caused. He even went as far as to comment that this was precisely why the likes of MJ shouldn't be allowed to wear a badge. Had Dean not been so focused on getting them the hell out he likely would've drilled the guy in the face just to get him to shut up.

Once re-armed and outside of the building, MJ pulled away from Dean and walked beside her brothers the rest of the way to the car. Her breathing was nearly back to normal as she slid into the backseat, and sat there rigidly, facing forward, her eyes staring straight ahead and seeing nothing. Dean and Sam got into the front, the doors snapping closed behind them. Dean turned to look over his shoulder at MJ.

"You gonna make it?" He asked. Sam turned, too, his mouth no longer bleeding, but the towel stained red in his hands.

MJ didn't look at either of them, still staring at nothing. "Did that guy die?" She asked breathlessly.

Dean glanced at Sam, his brow furrowed in question. Sam just shrugged, unsure of why MJ seemed so freaked out.

"The brute? No, I don't know what happened. It was like he was…shocked or something and he just rolled off Sammy and laid there, dazed." Dean just looked at her a minute, confused. She'd seen people die before, and this guy had been about to kill Sammy, so why was she so worried about his well-being?

"MJ, what's wrong? What are you afraid of?"

MJ finally blinked, looking at Dean like she hadn't even known he was there.

"Nothing, I'm fine." She finally said, before leaning back in the seat and crossing her arms over her chest.

Dean turned around in his seat, shaking his head. "O_kay_." He drawled, wondering what in the hell was going on. MJ's expression was troubled as she stared out the window until they reached the motel. Dean glanced back at her a few times, but had a bigger problem to focus on right now: Sam's face. His lip needed stitching and he was pretty sure he'd broken a tooth. Depending on how bad it was Dean might have to pull it. That troubling possibility at the forefront of his mind, Dean pulled the Impala into a spot in front of their motel room.

They filed inside, MJ heading straight into the bathroom without a word to either brother. She locked the door behind her, sitting on the edge of the tub and closing her eyes. She breathed in and out, trying in vain to calm herself down. She tried to think through what exactly had happened, tried to make some kind of sense of it so she could begin to process it, but her head hurt from where it had banged against the cement wall. She rubbed her hand over her hair, feeling the bump rising at the back of her head. _Great_. She balled her hands into fists, forcing out a sigh. _Concentrate_, she scolded herself. She had done something. She'd been pissed…desperate. She'd thought Sammy was going to die so she had…what? Shocked the guy with her mind like a human stun gun? It seemed so ridiculous. She looked down at her hands now, examining them closely. She had felt something. Like a fire inside her. She had felt it…_explode_ from her fingertips at exactly the same time the guy had suddenly released Sam as if he'd been hit with a taser.

After several minutes of staring uselessly down at her fingers, she heaved a defeated sigh and lowered her head into her hands. Whatever had happened to her…whatever she'd done back there, she couldn't tell Sam and Dean about it. For one thing, this wasn't some benign visions. She could hurt people with her mind. She knew how they would react to this. Sam would try to understand, try to help her, all the while secretly worrying about what this meant and what she was really capable of. Dean on the other hand would be flat out furious and want to lock her up until they could figure it out. This was way off the charts of normal, even by their standards. This made her not…human. And while she knew Sam and Dean had to suspect that John wasn't her father, this would confirm beyond a doubt that she was the demon's child. That was something she had no intentions of bringing to Sam and Dean's attention. It broke her heart to know they weren't her brothers. If they knew that for sure, they'd look at her differently. Treat her differently, and she wouldn't survive that. Dean may be an ass, but he and Sam were the only two people she had left in this world she could count on.

MJ had no idea how long she sat like that. A sharp rap on the door made her jump and look up.

"MJ? You almost done? I wanna shower." Dean asked through the door.

MJ stood and pulled the door open trying to look calm and not scared shitless as she walked past Dean.

She felt his eyes on her as she walked to her duffel, pulling what little hair still remained in her bun loose and letting it fall down her back.

"You okay?" Dean tried again, although he didn't sound too hopeful he'd get a response this time.

MJ nodded silently as she shrugged out of her suit jacket. She heard the bathroom door snap closed behind her. Dean was annoyed. _Something new and different_, she thought sarcastically. She glanced over at the bed where Sam was out cold, still in his suit pants and white undershirt, both were flecked with blood. His lip was swollen and the deep cut newly stitched. He looked pale and just plain exhausted. She changed clothes as quietly as possible, hoping Sam would get some much needed sleep.

Once she had changed into a pair of boxers and one of Dean's old Black Sabbath t-shirts she sat down on the edge of the unoccupied bed and nervously chewed her finger nails. Her mind was spinning with troublesome questions and horrifying possibilities. Her leg jumped up and down as she scanned the room for something to distract her. Her eyes landed on Dean's leather jacket, tossed over the back of the desk chair. Her leg stilled as she glanced over toward the closed bathroom door. She could hear the shower running inside. Her eyes darted to Sam who was still fast asleep. Without further hesitation, she padded across the room and began rifling through the pockets of the coat. She had found Dean's phone and put it back, continuing her search for her own confiscated cell. Sam mumbled behind her and she froze, slowly turning her head to see if he'd woken. He shifted on the bed, his eyes remaining closed and his breathing even. MJ knew she didn't have much time before Dean was done in the shower and decided Dean's phone would have to do. She snagged it from its pocket once again and soundlessly walked out the motel room door. Once outside MJ walked around the corner from their room and stood barefoot beside the soda machine, flipping the phone open and dialing the familiar number. It rang twice.

"Hello?"

MJ felt relief sweep over her. "Oh, it's so good to hear your voice." She breathed out with a sigh.

There was a short pause. "MJ?" Patrick asked in a strangled voice. "Are you okay? I called you like twenty times you never picked up. I didn't know what happened to you. I was this close to driving back to Sioux Falls, but I was afraid your brother would kill me this time." Patrick was talking so fast MJ could barely make out the words.

"I'm fine. Dean took my cell phone right after you left. Patrick, I'm so sorry. What did he do to you?" MJ asked, true concern lacing her words.

Patrick scoffed angrily. "He broke my nose, busted my lip open…I got bruises on my side from where he kicked me with those God damn boots." He seethed. "Not to mention it cost me two hundred bucks to buy a new phone."

MJ shook her head. "I really am sorry." She didn't know what else to say. She was secretly surprised that Patrick had gotten off that easy, but she wasn't going to tell him that.

"What'd he do to you?" Patrick asked. His voice was full of curiosity.

"Well like I said he took my phone," MJ paused shrugging as she examined her now destroyed nails. "Other than that nothing really, except being my shadow twenty-four seven."

There was another pause on Patrick's end. "That's it?" He asked skeptically.

"Yeah, that's it. Why?" MJ wasn't following Patrick's line of questioning here. She was anxious to move past this and just shoot the shit like they used to. To hear him tell one of his cheesy jokes that always made her giggle and feel a little bit better.

Patrick gave a short, un-amused laugh. "He didn't hit you?" He asked, clearly already making his own assumptions about it.

It was MJ's turn to laugh now. "No he didn't _hit_ me. Dean's never laid a hand on me in my life." MJ argued, immediately on the defensive.

"You expect me to believe that?" Patrick practically shouted. "After that first night, he dragged you out of my apartment by your arm and almost punched you!"

MJ was shaking her head, her face reddening in anger. This was not how this conversation was supposed to go. "He never would've hit me. He was angry, but he didn't hurt me, Patrick. He's just…he's not even capable of hurting me."

"Are you even listening to yourself?" Patrick yelled into the phone. "The guy held a gun to my head, MJ. He's a fucking lunatic. He's capable of anything!"

"You're wrong." MJ said simply, still shaking her head.

"Why are you defending him?"

"Gee, I don't know. Maybe because he's my brother!" MJ shouted. She could feel the sting of tears in her eyes.

"Alright, look," Patrick began in a much calmer voice. "Let's not argue. I'm glad you called." He paused, taking a deep breath. "How soon can you get away?" Patrick asked.

This caught MJ off guard. "What do you mean?"

"When can you leave? I can meet you somewhere and pick you up. You can stay with me as long as you need to." He paused. "Longer if you want." He added and she could hear the smile in his voice.

MJ took a deep breath. "Patrick." She said quietly. "I'm not leaving."

This was met with a long pause. MJ was sure he'd hung up when he finally spoke, the smile clearly gone from his voice. "You're kidding right?" He asked in disbelief.

"I can't just…leave my family. Just like that." It surprised MJ a little, that even after all the times she had considered leaving and with how angry she was with Dean right now, that she was telling the God's honest truth. She couldn't leave. She just…couldn't.

"Your brother tried to _kill me_!" Patrick argued. "How can you even consider staying?"

"Patrick, I'm sorry he did that, but I can't just leave them. I mean, my father just…it's just…I can't. Besides, Dean would find me wherever I went, anyway."

"Look." Patrick paused, taking a deep breath. "Don't make any decisions right now. Just think about it for a couple days. Do you think you'll be able to get away again? Get to a phone?"

MJ's stomach turned. He was talking like she was in danger. Like she was being held against her will and needed to escape. "Patrick, I don't need time to think about it. I'm not leaving." She said with certainty.

There was another pause, during which she heard him exhale loudly.

"So that's it, huh?" He spat with such anger in his voice it startled MJ. She'd never heard him talk like that before. When she made no response he continued, in the same furious tone. "Your family is _so_ fucked up, it's sad that you think that's normal. Don't bother calling or texting me ever again, got it?" He didn't wait for a response. "Have a nice life, MJ." He bit out, before abruptly hanging the phone up.

MJ held the phone in front of her, gaping at it. She couldn't believe him. How could he think she was going to run away with him? And then to accuse her of being a liar and her brothers of being crazy and abusive?

_Hell, no_, she thought, furiously redialing his number with shaky fingers. She held the phone to her ear, fuming, not even sure what she was going to say. The call went to voicemail.

"You can go to hell, you self-absorbed prick! How _dare_ you judge me and my family? You don't know me or my brothers. You're just pissed that you got jacked up and ran away crying like a bitch. No wonder you can't get girls your own age to date you. Pussy."

Before she'd even flipped the phone shut she was regretting it. That had been harsh and unnecessary. Feeling even worse than she had before she'd made the call, MJ shuffled back toward the motel room, wiping the tears from her eyes as she went. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm down. She really didn't need her brothers grilling her anymore today. She held the phone behind her back as she slowly pushed the door open and peeked inside. The shower was no longer running, but the bathroom door was still closed and Dean was nowhere in sight. Sam was softly snoring on the bed.

MJ pushed the door closed as quietly as possible and went to Dean's jacket, replacing the phone. She decided to take one more stab at locating her own phone while she was at it. She reached into the inside breast pocket of the coat and her fingers closed around the phone. She pulled it out, not feeling quite as victorious as she thought she might. A folded piece of paper fell from the pocket to the floor. MJ bent to quickly retrieve it when the words "Paternity" and "lab screening" caught her eye. She unfolded the paper, glancing at the bathroom door before looking down again. It was confusing to read, but from what she could gather, two samples had been tested and they matched, which meant that whoever the DNA came from were father and child. What it didn't say was who the two people in question were…

MJ's face grew warm and her stomach lurched. _Of course_. Dean must've gotten the demon's DNA somehow and compared it with hers. So he already knew she wasn't his sister. She'd been so stupid to think he'd never find out. Dean obviously knew the demon claimed she was his. Why else would it kidnap her? And of course, he'd want to be sure. Get proof. She wondered idly how long he'd known for as she fell into the desk chair, her forgotten cell phone clutched in one hand and the paternity test results clutched in the other. She stared down at them for several minutes, not really seeing the words anymore, more tears blurring her vision.

* * *

Dean stepped out of the bathroom, wearing just his jeans, toweling off his chest as he strode toward his brother. He glanced at MJ who was sitting in the desk chair reading something before he looked down at Sam who was sound asleep. Dean wasn't surprised. He'd given him some serious painkillers. His tooth was broken alright. And Dean couldn't pull it, so they'd need a dentist. Trouble was it was after 6 when they got back to the motel and no dentists were open at this hour. It would have to wait until tomorrow.

Dean turned and grabbed his bag off the floor, rummaging through it for a clean shirt. He turned back toward MJ, whose back was to him.

"Wanna go grab some dinner? Sam's gonna be conked out the rest of the night." When MJ didn't answer, or even acknowledge that she'd heard him, Dean tossed down his duffel bag and made his way toward her, trying to reign in his anger. "Alright, that's it. I know you're pissed at me, but this silent treatment? It ends now. You hear me?" He asked as he drew level with her.

She looked up at him, her eyes swimming with unshed tears and his anger instantly dissolved, replaced with concern and fierce protectiveness. He was about to ask her what was wrong when he realized what it was she was reading. He stared at the piece of paper wide eyed for a moment before looking back up at her face. She was looking at him now and she looked furious.

"How long have you known about this?" She demanded, wiping at her eyes.

Dean just looked back at her for a moment, wondering how to answer that question without starting Word War III. "Since Dad died." He answered honestly, not sure there was any way to soften the blow.

MJ stood, facing him. "Why didn't you tell me?" Dean could hear the hurt and betrayal clearly in her voice.

Dean rushed to explain. "I didn't want you to think that anybody was questioning you being our sister. That's not what this was about. It's just…all the crap the demon was spewing, Dad had to be sure."

"Dad?" MJ asked, confused. "Dad did this?"

Dean gave her a weird look. "Well, yeah."

"So you've known for months? When were you going to tell me? What were you waiting for me to sprout horns and start killing people?"

Dean shook his head, not following her logic at all. "What are you talking about?"

MJ turned away taking a few steps away from him before turning back to face him and answering. "You've known for four months that I'm _half fucking demon_ and you just weren't going to tell me?!"

Dean held his hands up, palms toward her. "Whoa." He said taking a step in her direction. "Mary Jane. Dad didn't test the demon's DNA. He tested _his own_." Dean pointed to the piece of paper, still clutched in MJ's fist, hanging at her side. "That paper proves that you _are_ a Winchester."

MJ stared up at her brother for a moment, her expression confused. She moved to the unoccupied bed and sat on the edge of it, rereading the paper. Dean sat down next to her, silently waiting for her to take it all in.

When she finally looked up, the anger and shock were gone. Now she just looked exhausted. "Why wouldn't you tell me about this?" She asked waving the paper toward her brother.

Dean shrugged. "I didn't know you were even questioning that Dad was your father. That you had any idea that there was another possibility."

"Dean, a demon kidnapped me and said I belonged to him. Of course I was questioning it. How stupid do you think I am?"

Dean frowned down at her. "I don't think you're stupid."

MJ's expression darkened, like she'd just remembered something. "Well then how do you explain the weird…abilities? And why the hell would that demon say he was my father if he's not?"

Dean exhaled loudly. "We think that maybe Dad was possessed when…you were conceived. He was drunk and he doesn't remember it." Dean said somewhat awkwardly, not looking his sister in the eye. "So that gave the demon some kind of connection to you."

MJ made no response, just staring down at the piece of paper in her hand.

Dean studied her expression carefully. Under the tears and confusion he saw a little glimmer of relief. Something dawned on him.

"Wait a minute. So you thought that demon was your father and you didn't say anything? You just kept it to yourself?"

MJ shrugged. "What was I gonna say? 'Hey guys, good hunt. By the way, thanks for taking care of me, but I'm not really your sister.'?" MJ joked humorlessly before dropping her eyes back down to stare at the test results.

"Hey." Dean said sternly, reaching out and taking hold of MJ's chin with one hand, pulling her face up so she was looking at him. "Don't you _ever_ say that. You're our sister. No matter what some lousy piece of paper says." There was real anger in his voice and fire in his eyes. "We're family. Nothing changes that. Got it?" He waited, not relinquishing his hold on her.

"Yeah." She answered finally, managing a small smile.

"Good." Dean said, finally lowering his hand and holding it out, palm up in front of her. "Now give me the cell phone." There were the beginnings of a smirk on his face as he waited.

MJ rolled her eyes and placed the phone in his waiting hand without argument. She scoffed as she shoved him a little and stood. "Now put a shirt on before I vomit." She managed another tiny smile before she turned away from her brother. Her stomach was still in knots, her mind was still racing and she was still scared shitless about whatever had happened at the jail. But she felt a little bit hopeful that she would figure it out, that things would be okay. At least she knew who she really was now. Well…sort of.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hey! So, I know the updates have been sporadic for a while now, but I'm happy to inform you all that I have some more free time now and intend to use it to write more regularly and get chapters up on a more regular basis. I have every intention of seeing this story through! Anyway, this chapter...DRAMA! Not just any drama, Dean and MJ drama...my _favorite_ kind;) It'll carry over to chapter 8, too. Hope you enjoy and as always thank you so much for reading.**

**Chapter 7**

Dean flipped through the same car magazine for the third time. MJ sat beside him, engrossed in some book. When he flung the magazine back down on the table and sighed heavily, shifting again in his seat, MJ finally looked over at him, unmistakable annoyance in her eyes.

"Dean." She chided. "Why don't you go for a walk or something? I think he's gonna be a while and you're going to drive me nuts soon."

He looked back at her, truly amazed at how she was able to sit so still for so long. She just looked back at him, eyebrows raised, waiting for him to respond.

He huffed. "It smells like a dentist office in here."

"That's because it _is_ a dentist office." MJ pointed out.

"You know what I mean," Dean said, standing up and pacing the length of the otherwise empty waiting room. "It makes me…antsy."

"Right, which is why you should just go. I'll stay here in case Sam finishes up before you get back." MJ offered.

Dean was shaking his head even as she spoke as he looked at the framed photos lining the walls. "No, thanks. I'm good."

MJ rolled her eyes and went back to her book.

And so it went for the next hour. MJ had at first been relieved when the dentist had come out and told Dean that they'd need to knock Sam out to extract the broken tooth. Being awake for that would've royally sucked, she was sure of it. The downside was that it was taking forever and Dean had the attention span of a toddler.

"Hey." Dean interrupted her reading for the 27th time.

She looked up at him across the room. "Yes?" She asked testily.

"Check it out." Dean said pointing at one of the photos.

MJ reluctantly closed her book and strode toward Dean looking over his shoulder at the photo. It was a picture of a hockey team. The caption told her it was the 20** Ham Lake Hocks. Dean pointed to one of the players in the front row.

"Mitchell Sands." He said before pointing to another. "Trenton Hill."

"The two victims." MJ realized, studying the photo more closely. "This was last year's team. They were league champions." She pointed out. "Maybe that's the connection. Whatever killed them could be going after members of this team."

"Great. So we got a couple dozen guys here who could be next." Dean said, frustrated.

"Yeah, well we got a bigger problem. A lot of these guys don't play here anymore. I've been over the roster for this year's team a few times. Almost half of last year's team was traded or called up. They play all over the country."

"Wonderful." Dean mumbled, looking at the picture again.

MJ shrugged. "Well at least it's a place to start."

"Don't you think it's weird that there's all these hockey photos in a dentist office?" Dean asked scanning the walls.

"No. Look." MJ pointed to another photo near the reception desk. Above the photo was a large sign that read, "Dr. Allen MacGregor: Official Dentist of the Ham Lake Hocks."

Dean chuckled. "I've heard of sponsorship, but an official dentist? That's pushing it."

MJ shrugged. "Makes sense. Hockey players are always breaking their teeth. They probably give him a lot of business."

Dean gave his sister a surprised look, but didn't get a chance to ask her how she seemed to know so much about hockey.

The door to the inner office opened and Sam walked slowly out, a slightly dazed look about him.

Dean and MJ went immediately to him. The technician standing behind him handed some small pieces of paper to Dean. "He did great." She said with a smile. "These are for antibiotics and some pain medication. He should take both when you get home and just rest for the rest of the day.

"Got it. Thanks." Dean said pocketed the prescriptions and placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Okay, ya big baby, let's get you in bed with your favorite teddy, huh?" He teased as they walked out.

Sam just shot him a bitchy look. Neither he nor MJ were fooled by Dean's casual attitude. They knew he was worried about Sam. Though he'd never admit it.

They stopped and filled the prescriptions and grabbed some lunch before heading back to the motel. Still groggy from the anesthesia, Sam got settled on the bed with his milkshake as soon as they got back. MJ got his meds ready and handed them to him.

Dean was just sitting down to eat his lunch when his phone chirped indicating a text message. He flipped it open, reading while he took a bite of his burger. There was a new message from a number he didn't recognize. The first line was a web address, something about "hot pics". The rest of the text read:

_Maybe you shoulda thought about the fact that I have these before you called me a pussy. I sent this to the phone you called me from yesterday. Hope it was your brother's and he beats the shit outta you when he sees this. Have a nice day, Princess._

Dean swallowed his burger, which now tasted like cardboard as he closed his phone. He grabbed up Sammy's computer and opened the internet browser, typing in the web address from the text. He steeled himself before pressing enter, not sure what this was about or who it was from. He clicked enter, holding his breath.

Dean's heart stopped beating. His eyes went wide and his jaw clenched. He sat, rigid in his chair, unable to look away from the picture, but wanting nothing more than to unsee it. He blew out a breath, feeling like he'd been punched in the gut.

He closed his eyes, but the image just appeared behind his eye lids.

MJ…in her underwear and bra…laying on a bed…making a face at the camera that would look at home in Hustler Magazine. Dean took a deep breath before opening his eyes and realizing that there was an arrow below the picture, indicating there were more…

The cursor hovered over the arrow for minutes before Dean had worked up the courage to click on it. When he did he felt pain like he didn't know was possible in his chest.

MJ was in her underwear in this one, too, sitting on the bed…no bra or anything else covering her top half.

This time, Dean quickly clicked past this photo, his only thought getting it off the screen. This was clearly not a well thought out plan, and he immediately regretted it when yet another picture came up.

And there it was: his baby sister without a scrap of clothing on her.

Dean quickly slammed the laptop closed, a fire in his gut rising up through his chest, making his face and ears grow crimson and his vision black out for a moment. He gripped the edge of the table, trying to quell the violent shaking in his hands. He couldn't move from his chair, couldn't form a coherent thought. He was lost somewhere between blind fury and debilitating sadness. He felt tears well up in his eyes and blinked a few times to dispel them as he stared ahead of himself, seeing nothing.

"Dean?" MJ asked, looking over at him and growing alarmed at the sight of him. "What's wrong?" She asked.

This seemed to snap Dean out of it. He turned toward her, saw her sitting perched on the side of Sam's bed, looking like she was about to come over to him.

All it took is one look at the innocent, concerned expression on her face and Dean could feel the flood gates open. Could feel the dam finally give and the carefully controlled rage force its way out. He stood abruptly, knocking his chair to the floor. His face must've given away his out of control anger because both Sam and MJ's eyes grew wide as he approached. MJ even flinched when he reached out and grabbed hold of her arm, snatching her up off the bed.

"Dean! What the hell?" She complained as he all but dragged her to the table and shoved her unceremoniously into his vacated seat. She looked up at him confused as he opened the laptop, careful not to look down at the computer as he did, and took hold of her chin, yanking her face around to look at the screen.

She made a strangled sound, somewhere between a shocked gasp and a mortified yelp before quickly slamming the computer closed just as Dean had before her. She stared straight ahead, tears quickly building in her eyes, not daring to look up at Dean.

Dean towered over her, saying nothing.

"What the hell's going on?" Sam asked, sitting up straighter on the bed. His words were slightly slurred and Dean knew the pain pills were already kicking in.

Dean just kept looking down at MJ, his eyes hard, waiting for her to say something. When she stayed quiet, he leaned forward, slamming his fist down on the table. MJ jumped in surprise.

He snatched up his phone off the table and opened the text from earlier, shoving it in MJ's face. "_Explain_." He seethed, barely opening his mouth.

MJ picked up the phone with a shaking hand, wiping the tears from her eyes as she read it. Her breath hitched with a sob as she closed the phone again and set it down.

"I can't believe he did this." She barely whispered.

"Who?!" Dean shouted down at her, making her jump again. Dean knew he was scaring her and found that he wasn't at all regretful about that.

"Patrick." MJ squeaked, sobbing again.

Dean had already known it was him, but he was going to make her tell him. She was going to tell him all of it.

"Did he take them?" Dean asked, his voice threatening and low. He waited impatiently for her answer his eyes glued to her face. Because _if he had taken them_…if that low life piece of scum had taken naked photos of _his sister_…well he was heading straight to Lincoln right now.

MJ shook her head, her eyes carefully averted away from her brother's enraged glare.

"_Who_ took them?" Dean demanded.

When MJ didn't answer immediately, Dean slammed his fist down on the table again. "Who?!"

MJ squeaked in fear. Her response was barely audible. "I did."

Dean wanted to ask why, but honestly he didn't care. Nothing she said, no explanation she manufactured could curb his anger at this point.

"Who did you send them to, besides Patrick?"

MJ finally looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. "No one else." She said firmly.

"Dean, what's wrong?" Sam asked, trying and failing to stand.

Dean ignored him. "Well," He began in a quiet voice. MJ chanced a quick glance up at his face and his expression made her cry even harder. He was glaring down at MJ as if it physically hurt him to have to look at her. Dean just spoke over her loud sobs, not even acknowledging her pain in this. "You may have only sent them to Patrick, but now they're out there for everyone, _everyone_ to see!" He paused, placing his hands palms down on the table in front of her, leaning down over her, his expression nothing short of murderous. "Do you _get_ that, Mary Jane? Every disgusting, dirty old man in the free fucking world is jacking off to naked pictures of _you_!"

"What?" Sam said in shock, finally able to get to his feet. He was hobbling slowly toward his siblings.

MJ could only cry, fighting to control her breathing, as she leaned forward in her chair, her head bowed, making pitiful, broken sounds.

Dean was relentless as he jabbed a finger at the laptop. "Those will _never_ go away! Do you _get_ that? Your _business_ is out there for everyone to see _forever_!" Dean gave a humorless chuckle as he straightened up and took a step away from her, running a hand over his face. "Not to mention that if the right people find out about this, your ass is back in foster care!" He turned back toward her, watching her nearly hyperventilate with the force of her crying, but showing no mercy. "_How_ could you do something so _fucking stupid_?!"

"Dean, that's enough." Sam said weakly, standing beside MJ. "Go cool off." Sam tried to inject some authority into his order, but even to himself he just sounded exhausted.

Sam placed a hand on MJ's back, trying to comfort her.

Dean watched them silently for a minute, still reeling. He wanted to continue his rant, even though it was doing nothing to make him feel any better.

He grabbed his jacket off of the bed and walked swiftly toward the door.

"Don't come back until you've calmed down." Sam commanded.

Dean stopped at Sam's instruction, his hand on the knob. He turned back toward them, raised his voice to be heard over MJ's now hysterical crying.

His expression was ashamed and revolted as he looked back at his siblings. "I'm just glad Dad's not here to see this." MJ's head jerked up and she looked over at him stunned into silence. MJ thought she might die right then just seeing that _look_ on her brother's face and knowing it was meant for her. Dean went for the kill. He shook his head, "He'd be disgusted with you." He barked out before slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Dean didn't return to the motel room until he was good and drunk. Well, he was beyond drunk really. He was past the point of feeling a God damn thing, which of course had been the goal since he walked out of the motel room that afternoon.

He had found a dive bar and sat there, downing whiskey shots, alternating them with beers, wondering how many it would take to wipe away the images from the photos…

He didn't find the answer. He was 9 shots and 8 beers in when the bartender cut him off and he stumbled outside and puked in the parking lot. He staggered to a still open liquor store, buying the cheapest bottle of crap whiskey they had and wandered the streets of the small town, making short work of the liquor.

The guilt and regret he knew would come made its appearance at some point and he found himself crying freely as he walked. Luckily he didn't encounter anyone in his heavily inebriated and miserable state. He knew he'd land himself in jail or the hospital if he stayed out, so he reluctantly trudged back to the motel. He paused outside the door, not ready to go in yet. Instead he pulled out his cell phone. It took three tries for Dean to find the right number and press send.

"Hello?"

Dean said nothing. He wasn't sure if it was just that he was highly intoxicated, but her voice was the sweetest thing he'd ever heard.

"Hello?" Jenna asked again, slightly agitated.

_Oh, right, I gotta say something_, Dean realized.

"Hey." He settled on, as he not so gracefully plopped himself down on the curb, taking another swig from his bottle.

"Dean?" Her voice became more urgent now. "What's wrong?"

And Dean knew she knew it was bad. She could tell from that one word.

"What, I can't just call a pretty girl to talk?" Dean knew he was way past being capable of charming, but it was instinct for him to try.

"Well, it's 4 AM here, I'm assuming you're in the continental US so it's at least 1 AM where you are. And you're clearly plastered." She accused.

"Ya think so?" He tried for a light, playful tone.

"Dean." She snapped, in a stern voice. "What's wrong?"

It wasn't a question as much as a demand for him to cut the bullshit and start talking.

Dean sniffled and cleared his throat, determined not to let her know he was crying.

"I'm no good at this." He admitted, so much sadness in his voice that Jenna felt her heart break. She wished she was there with him right now, could comfort him.

"Is MJ okay?" She asked softly.

Dean nodded, then remembered she couldn't see him. "Yeah. She's alive." He replied, taking another drink. "That's about all I can manage these days." He added sardonically.

"What happened?"

Dean didn't answer right away, but ever the patient one, Jenna just waited.

Finally Dean took another drink and cleared his throat. "She fucked a twenty two year old man then sent him naked pictures of herself. And being the standup guy that this joker is he posted them on the internet." Dean spilled, all in one breath.

Jenna was silent for a moment. "Oh, MJ." She finally whispered.

"Yup. That's my sister. _All _class." Dean quipped, taking another drink. "I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree after all." Even as he said it he knew it was just anger talking. He knew MJ wasn't really like Wendy. Not in the ways that really mattered.

"Dean." Jenna said sharply. "She's a kid. She's not the first teenage girl to get duped by a guy. Girls like MJ are easy targets. Think about it, Dean. She's never had any positive attention from a man before you. She's a predator's dream come true: an insecure kid with unresolved Daddy issues."

"You don't know anything about my father." Dean spat, sudden anger swelling inside him. "He did the best he could."

"Dean, I didn't mean any disrespect. I only meant that your father was gone more than he was around and that left MJ without a consistent male role model."

"Don't you make my father out to be a dead beat dad! He was a God damn hero, ya got that?!" Dean shouted.

Jenna waited a beat before responding. "Okay, you're drunk, and you're starting to piss me off." She said evenly.

"You're starting to piss _me_ off." Dean retorted lamely, far too drunk for his brain to come up with anything else.

"You called me." Jenna pointed out calmly.

There was a lengthy pause before Dean finally mumbled "Bad idea," before closing the phone, ending the call.

He stood, wobbling on the spot for a moment before stumbling back toward the room. He paused outside the door, draining the bottle of whiskey before tossing it into the parking lot where it smashed against the asphalt.

Dean didn't turn on the light when he entered the room. He just collapsed on the bed closest to the door, not bothering to even glance at the other bed, to check on his siblings. He was asleep as soon as his body hit the lumpy mattress.

He wouldn't remember this detail in the morning. He'd remember the photos and the fight with MJ. He'd remember the phone call. He'd certainly remember all the liquor. But he wouldn't remember that last night, for the first time in his life, he didn't ensure his younger siblings were safe in their beds before turning in.

* * *

MJ woke to the sound of Dean snoring loudly from the other bed. She slowly opened her eyes and could feel that they were red and puffy from crying herself to sleep the night before. Well…the afternoon before was more accurate. Dean had left, tearing out her heart before he went, sometime after noon. She had cried hysterically, Sam holding her, for what seemed like hours before he finally couldn't stay awake any longer and gave in to the pain meds and the leftover anesthesia in his system. MJ drifted off soon after, wrapped in his arms.

MJ rolled over realizing that Sam was no longer in bed. She had no clue what time it was, but heard the bathroom sink running. She rolled back and stole a glance at Dean. He was lying on his stomach, fully clothed, leather jacket, shoes and all and drooling on his pillow. Judging from his appearance he'd been drinking all night. A lot.

MJ grimaced as the events of yesterday came flooding back. She ran a hand through her hair, getting up and forcing herself to get ready for the day. She still had the sick, devastated feeling in the pit of her stomach and she wondered idly if it would be permanent as she brushed out her tangled hair. She wasn't even angry. She didn't have enough energy to be mad. The hurt left no room for any other emotion. It consumed her.

She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, relieved it was finally long enough again to wear back. She thought about Carrie cursing her, making her hair fall out in patches, and wondered if she was supposed to want that kind of justice for herself. Was she supposed to want to make Patrick pay? Should she be obsessed with revenge like James Wettering had been after he died outside his girlfriend's apartment?

No, she couldn't muster up that kind of passion…for anything right now. All she felt was sad. Sad that Patrick had betrayed her. Sad that she'd really cared about him and he obviously hadn't felt the same way. And sad that Dean was right: she couldn't take this back. Ever.

She quickly got dressed, unable to stop the image of Dean's face just before he walked out the door from floating across her mind. She felt her heart break a little bit more.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: And the drama continues! Thanks so much for reading:)**

**Chapter 8**

Sam emerged from the bathroom just as MJ was lacing up her sneakers. She glanced up at him, her face set in a look of true devastation. He smiled back at her in what he hoped was a reassuring way as he crossed the room and busied himself with sorting through the clothes in his duffel while he covertly watched his sister. She absently fiddled with the strings of her hooded sweatshirt as she sat at the little table, looking out the window. Her eyebrows were knit together and her eyes were still red and puffy from her long afternoon of crying the day before. Sam was pretty pissed at himself for not being able to stay awake longer. He had fallen asleep while she was still shaking with harsh sobs. He felt much better this morning. His mouth was sore, but nothing he couldn't handle. He wasn't taking any more of those pills. Not when things were so tense between Dean and MJ.

Sam zipped up his duffel, sneaking another look at his sister as he strode to the vacant bed and put on his boots. He thought back to what had happened before he made Dean leave. He swallowed, fighting back the anger that swelled in him when he thought about what Patrick had done. One brother exploding was enough. He would be calm and rational for her. Man, Dean was being really fucking stupid about this, he thought. His brother's anger was horribly misplaced. Yes, he was disappointed in MJ, too. But that was _so_ not the priority here. The priority was castrating Patrick. And the fact that Dean had blown up at MJ and not taken off for Lincoln the minute he found out baffled Sam. Sure, Dean had come down hard on her in the past, but only as an afterthought to making whoever had hurt her bleed. And her fault in the incident had never been a factor in Dean's decision to punish the guilty party. Sam guessed that it was the shock of seeing…what he'd seen that had made Dean react so harshly. He wanted to cut his brother a break, after all, Sam hadn't seen the photos – nor did he have any intention of ever seeing them – so he couldn't say how he'd have reacted if he were in Dean's shoes.

Sam watched his older brother for a moment, passed out on the bed, snoring loudly. He hoped that Dean had gotten it out of his system. That he could be more level headed about it all today. Because Sam could respect that Dean was upset, but he wouldn't stand idly by while someone berated and belittled his sister, even if that someone was Dean.

Sam stood, stretching as he groaned loudly. MJ looked over at him and he forced a smile.

"How about some breakfast?"

* * *

Dean woke with a start, nearly falling out of the bed. He quickly scanned the room, wondering what had brought him so quickly to the surface. He almost immediately felt the room begin to spin and sat up, which only made him feel that much sicker. He barely registered that he was alone in the room before he bolted from the bed and to the bathroom, making it just in time. After violently retching for five minutes he sat there on the bathroom floor, back against the tub, sore head in his hands. Unbidden, thoughts of yesterday forced their way to the forefront of his mind, making him feel nauseous all over again. God, he had been so angry. Hell, he was still angry, still frustrated with MJ. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying and failing to rationalize his reaction to the pictures. After a few more attempts at putting together an argument in his defense, Dean gave up and got slowly to his feet, turning on the shower as hot as it would go.

He stood there, under the stream for several minutes, breathing in the steam. He knew what it came down to. MJ had acted recklessly. Foolishly, no doubt. But she didn't shoulder the blame for this. No, the fault belonged to the adults in her life. The people who were supposed to keep her safe. The blame was on Dean. And Sam. It was on Wendy and every piece of shit drug dealer who Wendy had sold her daughter to. MJ had been failed by all of them. Not least of all, Dean thought bitterly, by her father. Dean didn't recall exactly what he'd said to Jenna on the phone the night before. He knew it had been shitty and unfair and that he needed to apologize for it. His words might not have stuck with him, but he knew it was his sense of duty to defend his father's reputation that had driven him to it. Maybe she'd struck a nerve in him because on some level he knew she was right. That John was at least partially responsible for MJ's self-destructive behavior.

Dean knew from experience that they could play the blame game all day and get nowhere. The fact of the matter was that MJ was a vulnerable child. A naïve teenager who had been seeking the attention that Patrick was happy to give her. Dean felt anger boil up in his stomach again. Patrick had preyed on his sister. Right from the beginning. MJ's only crime here was trusting the guy.

When the hot water ran out, Dean finally stepped out of the shower, wrapping himself in a towel. As he searched his bag for semi-clean clothes he thought about what Jenna had told him when he'd gone to visit her in Georgia. It made even less sense now. MJ, the girl who'd been duped by an older man, who had cried hysterically and clearly felt real pain over being hurt by someone she'd cared about, was capable of becoming a soulless killer? Of leading some kind of demon army and killing countless humans? No. It just didn't make sense. He thought about his final conversation with his father. Had Dad seen something in MJ that Dean just wasn't willing to see? Some kind of dark or evil tendencies? Dean couldn't figure out why else John would feel the need to warn Dean about her. Unless the demon or someone else had shown John what he had shown Jenna. Dena swallowed hard. He hadn't seen it, but he knew it had been awful based on Jenna's reaction to it. She had been deeply disturbed by what she had seen MJ become in the demon's plans.

Dean dressed slowly, his head pounding and his stomach threatening to turn on him again. He needed coffee; he thought as he grabbed his jacket and headed out the door. _Yeah, coffee will really solve it all_, he thought sarcastically. He knew what he really needed was a fucking break. He felt like he was being pulled in six different directions at once: find the yellow eyed demon, save everyone from whatever evil son of a bitch they were tracking this week, keep MJ and Sam safe, oh, but watch out for both of them 'cause they ain't normal…he shook his head, discouraged as he got into the Impala. He wanted to blame the liquor for his scattered thoughts, but he knew it was just another day in the life of the Winchesters. Shit, couldn't it ever just be easy?

When she was younger it had been simple. When they'd visited Dean had found that he fell easily into the big brother role. It came naturally to him, most likely from years of taking care of Sammy. During their visits Dean would help her with her homework. Comfort her when she was scared. If she screwed up, did something dangerous he'd yell at her. Set her straight. If someone messed with her they got demolished and that was it. Right and wrong. No gray areas. She had been undoubtedly innocent and childish and Dean had found it uncomplicated and satisfying to take care of her.

As he drove his mind wandered back to their very last visit. MJ was a freshman in high school. The dork had actually skipped a grade somewhere along the way and so she was thirteen and in the ninth grade. Dean was proud of her, but he'd also been worried. She was younger than all the other kids and small for her age besides. He felt like she would be an easy victim for some mean spirited older kids. Especially the girls. Girls could be vicious. He kept his concern over the situation to himself, though, knowing that his father wouldn't entertain the conversation and that Wendy wouldn't care anyway. So when they got that call that MJ had gotten into a fight, Dean wasn't surprised at all. He was sure he knew exactly what had transpired: Some group of bitchy girls had teased her and she'd lashed out on them. He figured he'd have to argue with his dad and Wendy to move her back to a school with kids her own age. What greeted Dean at the school though had not been what he'd expected.

**Flashback**

_Dean idly wondered how badly MJ had hurt the girl she'd gotten into a fight with as he climbed the steps into the school. The message his father relayed to him was that MJ had beaten someone up and was being suspended. He knew his sister wouldn't fight unless provoked, so he would play the disciplinarian in front of the principal, but he wouldn't really punish MJ. In fact no one would be punishing her if Dean had any say in it._

_Dean entered the office and approached the receptionist who was on the phone at the moment. She looked up at Dean as he drew level with her desk and he gave his best smile, making her stumble over her words and blush a little. Dean was thinking about turning up the charm with this one…she was cute and hell, maybe it could win MJ some points to get her outta trouble. Dean stepped to the side waiting patiently for her to finish her phone call. That's when he heard the sounds of shouting coming from within the office behind the woman. The plaque on the wooden door told him it was the principal's office. The shouting was one sided, so someone was getting lectured…actually more like reamed out based on the volume and anger in the man's voice. Dean couldn't make out every word, but the speech seemed to be focused on responsibility and self-control and Dean's stomach gave a little twinge as two questions popped into his head: Was MJ in that room and if she was, just how bad had she hurt the other girl to rile this guy up that much?_

_Just then the woman behind the desk ended her call and looked up at Dean with a huge smile._

_"How can I help you?" She asked sweetly._

_"I'm here to pick up Mary Jane Hanson. I'm her brother, Dean Winchester."_

_The woman's smile faltered as she looked behind her at the principal's door and Dean's suspicion was confirmed. She turned back, the smile once again in place. "She's in with Mr. Washington right now. I'll let him know you're here."_

_Dean flexed his fingers, trying not to get worked up as the woman picked up the phone again. It wouldn't do for him to lose his shit on the principal. MJ would still be in trouble and might take even more shit because of it in the future. Plus his father would be pissed. Dean knew all of this and tried to remain calm. After all, he didn't know the circumstances of what went down. Still, for a grown man to scream at a barely teenage girl like that…_

_There was a distinct pause in the man's tirade when the receptionist called back to let him know Dean was there. Dean heard him bellow something in response before the woman hung up._

_"You can go in now." She said, and her smile was more apologetic than flirtatious now._

_Dean nodded his thanks before pushing the door open and stepping inside the office. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on MJ, slouched in a chair in front of the desk. Her head was down, her face hidden by a curtain of red, curly hair. His gaze then shifted to the man sitting behind the desk. He went 6 foot 5 easy and was built like a linebacker. He looked to be in his mid-forties and right now, his face was twisted in anger and his eyes were livid as he looked down on MJ from where he sat across the desk from her. He didn't acknowledge Dean's presence and continued his verbal onslaught as if he hadn't been interrupted. His hands were clasped in front of him, and Dean could see his knuckles were white with the effort of maintaining his composure._

_Dean moved immediately to MJ's side, standing to her left, his hand brushing her shoulder and just looked down at the man, waiting for him to can the lecture and tell Dean what the hell was going on._

_"There's no room for hatred or violence in this school and if that is how you plan to go through life – conducting yourself like a Neanderthal then your future is going to be awfully bleak!" He paused, shaking his head in disgust. "How do you intend to be a productive member of society if you can't control yourself and conduct yourself like a human being?" He was shouting so loudly MJ actually jolted slightly in her chair._

_Dean had heard quite enough and stuck his hand out toward the man, interrupting him._

_"Dean Winchester." He said loudly. Mr. Washington looked up, surprised and a little irritated, but after a few seconds stood and shook Dean's hand. "I'm Mary Jane's brother." He continued, fake smile in place._

_"Gregory Washington. Principal." The man responded before indicating the seat next to MJ._

_Dean discretely edged the chair closer to his sister before sitting down beside her. She still didn't look up and Dean noticed her knuckles were also white from how hard she was gripping the arms of the chair._

_Dean looked back up at the principal who was scowling at MJ like she was the scum of the earth. "What seems to be the problem?" Dean asked with forced calm._

_The principal considered Dean for a moment. He didn't seem to think much of him based on the contemptuous look on his face when he eyed him, but Dean could care less what this prick thought of him. The man's eyes narrowed and moved to MJ._

_"Young lady," he snapped at her, making her jump again, "tell your brother what you did."_

_MJ didn't look up and her voice was quiet like she was holding back what she really wanted to say. "I got in a fight." She said slowly._

_The principal unclasped his hands and jabbed a thick finger at MJ, leaning over the desk. "You brutally attacked another student after I explicitly instructed you to go back to class! That is blatant insubordination and quite frankly criminal assault young lady! You'll be lucky not to do jail time after this! To think that-"_

_"Whoa." Dean held both hands up, palms toward Mr. Washington. "That is enough." He commanded loudly, having to shout to be heard over the other man's voice._

_Mr. Washington paused, clearly shocked at the interruption, eyes back on Dean._

_"No disrespect, mister, but you need to lower your voice and calm down."_

_Before he had a chance to respond, Dean continued, turning toward MJ._

_"Mary Jane." He said, his voice firm but quiet. "What happened?"_

_There was a pause before MJ began speaking, still not looking up. "Somebody was getting picked on so I stood up for her and ended up getting in a fight." Dean heard her voice hitch as she spoke._

_"Don't you make yourself out to be some kind of hero! Another student is at the hospital right now because of you!"_

_Dean threw a warning glance at the man, but said nothing. Mr. Washington just glared back at him, as if daring him to try and silence him. Dean placed a hand on MJ's shoulder. "MJ, look at me." He said gently. He was unsettled by not being able to see her face when she spoke._

_Slowly, hesitantly, MJ raised her head, turning her face toward Dean just slightly. Her hair still blocked most of her face, but Dean could see tears sliding silently down her cheeks. Despite the curtain of hair, Dean spotted the dried blood on her swollen bottom lip. He reached out taking her chin between his forefinger and thumb with one hand, and brushing the hair back over her shoulder with the other. What met his eyes made his heart hammer in his chest._

_The fat lip was nothing compared to the rest of her face and neck. There was a red mark high on her left cheekbone, which Dean recognized as the beginning of a nasty bruise and deep red abrasions all around her neck, like rug burn…like someone had her in a headlock and meant business._

_"What the…" Dean trailed off, momentarily left speechless by the sight of his sister's injuries. He turned angry eyes on the man behind the desk. "Could you not see that my sister is hurt? What are you blind or something?!"_

_The man was practically shaking with barely contained rage as he responded, pointing once again in MJ's direction. "She broke his jaw and most likely his leg as well! She's hardly an innocent victim, here! Do you have any idea-" he seemed to be grasping for the right words to really get Dean to understand the gravity of the situation. "He's one of our starters! One of the best football players we've ever had in this school! And your sister just ended his season with her thoughtless actions!"_

_Dean was staring back at the man, fury plain on his features. MJ looked at her brother cautiously, knew what was coming._

_When Dean finally spoke he was practically shaking with rage. "You mean to tell me that a guy did this to my sister? That some football star punk beat on her face and she's in here getting the lecture?!" Dean shook his head. "I may not be educated or sophisticated like you think you are, pal, but where I come from men don't hit women! And in case it escaped your notice, she's a thirteen-year-old, 100 pound girl! And you're gonna sit there and berate her for defending herself against a God damn linebacker?" Dean shook his head again, bewildered and disgusted. "Come on, MJ, we're leaving."_

_MJ stood and Mr. Washington was on his feet in an instant. "Now wait just a minute there!" He bellowed, pointing his finger once again at MJ, close to her face. "There's still the matter of your punishment-"_

_Dean stepped between his sister and the principal, his expression pissed off as he faced the man, his own finger in the other man's face. "Two things, buddy: One: Get that finger out of my sister's face or I'm gonna rip it the hell off. Two: You ever scream at her like that again, I'll find out about it and you'll be shitting out your own teeth for a month."_

_Mr. Washington was left speechless as Dean gave him one last glare as he moved swiftly toward the door, pulling MJ along with him._

* * *

MJ knotted her straw wrapper and yanked, ripping the piece of paper in two. She could feel Sam's eyes on her from across the booth and kept her eyes cast downward, away from his penetrating gaze. She knew he would want to talk about it and that was the absolute last thing she wanted to do. She had thought about turning him down when he asked if she wanted to go to breakfast, but the thought of being in the motel room when Dean woke up was far less appealing than warding off Sam's interrogation.

They'd ordered and Sam was halfway through his first cup of coffee and he hadn't brought it up yet. MJ began to feel hopeful that maybe Sammy was going to cut her a break after all.

"How did Dean even find out?" Sam asked suddenly.

MJ cringed, still not looking up. _So much for catching a break_, she thought. She waited him out, knowing he wouldn't give up completely, but that he might limit his questions if she made him work for the answers.

"Did you know about it before yesterday?" Sam prompted.

MJ sighed heavily, wrapping her hands around her coffee cup before finally looking up at her brother.

"No. I didn't know. He texted Dean the website."

Sam furrowed his brows in confusion. "Why would he text Dean? How does he even know Dean's number?"

MJ's eyes dropped back to the table. "Because I stole Dean's phone and called him two days ago. He got mad at me and I guess this was payback." There was silence for quite a while and eventually MJ looked up at Sam's face.

He looked like he was about to lecture her about it, but then his expression softened and he seemed a little sad.

"Why did you do it, MJ?" It wasn't a judgment and he wasn't insinuating she was an idiot like Dean had. She saw anger glint in his eyes. "He asked you for them, didn't he?"

MJ shook her head, running a hand over her ponytail in exasperation. "What difference does it make? I did it, okay? It was my choice." She shook her head in disgust. "I bet on him and I lost. So what?" She leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Story of my life." She mumbled, cursing the wetness she felt welling up in her eyes. How did she have any tears left to cry?

* * *

Dean found a diner close by and parked the Impala out front, still lost in a fog created by the combination of alcohol still lingering in his system and a haze of jumbled thoughts. As he approached the restaurant, he looked inside the window, the sight before him making his stomach roll in a way that had nothing to do with the booze.

On the other side of the glass was MJ, looking down at her cup of coffee, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. The look on her face made Dean freeze in his tracks, unable to take another step forward. He'd seen that look before. That shattered look of pain and deep sadness. He'd probably seen that look of her face lots of times if he was being honest. But that time in that principal's office, the time he'd just been thinking about on the drive here…that was the time that stuck with him. The anguish behind the marks and bruises on her face had been what really drove Dean to make sure someone paid. On that day, over a year ago, MJ had been hurt by some jock and Dean had made it right. He didn't care that he, himself, was an adult and the kid who beat her up was seventeen, that boy paid dearly for laying a hand on his sister. Black and white. An eye for an eye. Simple.

Looking at his sister's face now, Dean felt the fog clear from his brain. Suddenly, this wasn't all so complicated as it had seemed moments ago. He knew what he needed to do and that he needed to do it now. Before he talked to MJ. Before he tried to make things right with Jenna. Even before he found a way to get the photos taken down off that website. No, that would all have to wait. Right now he had a score to settle.

Before Dean could turn to leave MJ looked up and caught his eye. Her face registered surprise at seeing him standing there outside the window, looking in at her. He could only guess at the emotions she must have seen play across his face in those few moments. He watched one final tear cascade down her face before he spun around and headed back to the Impala.


End file.
